Gambit
by Lady M28
Summary: Spec fic based on small bits of spoilers, ep descriptions, the new extended promo & promo pics from 1x09-1x13. What I think will happen. If you are spoiler free, well, you've been warned. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: CBS owns _Reign_, chess metephors are all mine.

**_Gambit_**

1. Chess. an opening in which a player seeks to obtain some advantage by sacrificing a pawn or piece.

2. any maneuver by which one seeks to gain an advantage.

**Setting the Board**

Warmth, it is the first thing that I become aware of every morning. His warmth. It's like the thickest furs, banishing any hint of cold. My eyes open and I gaze at his beautiful visage, his strong arms that hold me, protect me. I carefully unwind myself from him, moving from the bed. I feel the pleasant ache in my bones that comes from him, his touch, his passion, his lovemaking. My lips feeling bruised from the force of his kisses and the nips and bites he applies when his passion overtakes him.

I wrap myself in a blanket and pad across my rooms to a window overlooking the lake. He always woke first in those days when we thought we had all the time in the world, making sure I always got back to my rooms before the servants began to stir. A true gentleman, ever mindful of my reputation.

That's not true anymore. I've woken first these past three mornings, my sleep now restless. Unable to enjoy his arms wrapped around me when I know what the ultimate price of our bliss will be.

The morning fog is just beginning to burn off. Tufts of mist still hover over the grounds. It's still early, but the chateau is beginning to stir. A new day is beginning, but it can't end like the last few. As much as I need him, as much as my body seeks his as its home, this can't go on.

He's so beautiful when he sleeps. He's beautiful to me at all times, but there's something so peaceful about him when he sleeps, tucked up in the pillows of my bed. His hair a mess from my need to run my fingers through it endlessly; his face soft, relaxed. He holds me at night, tender and protective - always. He says we will figure out a way together, that we are better as a team than we've ever been apart. He's right, I can't deny that. But it's still not an option for me.

I feel tears begin to leak unchecked out of my eyes. I should be happy, the man I love - the man who turned out to be so much more than I ever hoped for - loves me back, and with his whole heart. He's willing to forgive me even, for what he sees as an emotionally distraught decision made in haste.

And, yet, I find no comfort in this. I'm willing to sacrifice our happiness. He's willing to sacrifice so much more.

If this is his move, he will win. I can't resist. He is my weakness. His presence in my bed these past three nights proves that. He understands the pull - this invisible string - that exists between us far better than I, and he now uses it as a weapon against me. His kisses, his touch, his passion have become what I most yearn for - and most dread. Each time I allow myself to get caught in the moment, to push away the voices reminding me of the prophecy, to give in to my desires - regret bleeds into my soul.

I tell myself each morning that last night was the last time. That I'm saying goodbye to the man I love. And if it is the last time, don't we deserve that goodbye? But as day once again turns to night, and my yearning - for his touch, soft whispers and kisses - grows I give in.

I thought leaving, and refusing to marry him would make him back away, but I forgot. Forgot that when Francis truly grabs onto something, he's like a dog with a bone - chewing, gnawing, scraping, till he finds that soft marrow, the sweet spot that he can use to his advantage. No is not an answer he's used to, not one he accepts. I've become the bone, and he's found my weak spot.

If the stakes weren't so dire his determination for us to be one would be romantic. But they are. Living alone in a world where he does not exist is unfathomable to me - my worst nightmare. How he doesn't see this I do not know. How he refuses to see how this is ripping me apart just as much as it is hurting him, I don't understand.

Actually, I think he does comprehend, which might make it worse. He understands the sacrifices I'm willing to make, and he throws them back in my face. He thinks we can defy fate. Or perhaps he doesn't, but thinks what we have is worth the price. Or perhaps it's because he doesn't believe any of it to begin with. But it's not just his decision. He is a future king, but I am a queen, just as tutored in strategy as he is. If he wants to turn this into a game; I must seek to turn the tables.

He knows I love him, he knows I will sacrifice every bit if happiness we've found together to save his life - and he doesn't care. Doesn't seem to care if he lives or dies, as long as it's in my arms. But what of me? If I'm the one to be left behind how am I supposed to live with the consequences? How am I supposed to live with the gaping void to my soul that his death would bring me?

There has to be a third option; it just hasn't illuminated itself to me yet.

I force myself to get up and move to the wash stand, to splash water on my face. The face peering back at me in the silvered glass is blotchy, drooping with sadness. My eyes haunted. He's right, they give me away. This is no way for a queen to appear.

I affix cool rags to deal with the red splotches, giving my mind a time to calm, to think, to come up with a plan. That was part of my problem the first time, I had no real plan. I won't make that mistake a second time.

He's figured out my weakness; I must find his. He can't win this game; I can't let him. The stakes are far too high. And I can't deal with the consequences of losing. I won't.

TBC

**Endnotes**:

1) This will be multi-chapter, so feel free to put it on alert if you don't already have me on author alert. It won't be super long, but I felt due to time and structure that a oneshot wasn't the way to go. First update will be very soon, after that I'll slow down a bit, but I need to stay ahead of the show.

2) I am a very, _very_ solid Francis & Mary shipper. This is spec fic. What I think is actually going to happen, and me seeing how close it is to the show. There's nothing here that's purely wish fulfillment.

3) This is in a lot ways a follow up to my last story, _Reconoissance_. And while they are independent, I believe the reading experience is enriched by having read it first. Also, there are references that carry over, but again, not completely necessary to have read the other.

4) Finally, I want to say a very grateful thank you to two people. **Poligirl25**, who I have been developing the spec this story is based on independently of, but which both of us posted the other night, at which point we began going back-and-forth, pushing each other, and rounding the concept out. Her sounding board has been invaluable. Also, **justcallmesmitty**, who gives fabulous beta. I can't thank either of y'all enough.

Icon by **CrunkPunk88** at fanforum

Comments & reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	2. Pawn

**Pawn**

I asked for a private audience with Henry the next morning, after another night spent in Francis's arms. He thinks he's finally worn me down, another date has been set for the wedding. What he didn't know is my insatiability was because I knew I was saying goodbye, and wanted as much of him last night as I could get. I wanted to consume him and be consumed by him - never leave his arms.

He left me this morning in a chipper mood, lingering kisses and a lightness in his step, even after not sleeping a wink. He didn't know it was the calm before the storm I'm about to put into motion.

When I approach Henry's study his guard opens the door immediately, saying, "The king is expecting you, Your Grace."

"Mary," Henry greets me with a smile and kiss to my hand, ushering me to a chair in front of his desk. "Would you like some refreshment before we discuss what brings you here this afternoon?"

"Please," I nod back. I'd like something to occupy my hands.

"I have some mulled wine which was delivered a few moments ago," he offers. "It is very nice - warm you right up."

"That will be fine," I reply, not in the mood for idle chit-chat or niceties. I want to present my plan and get out of here as quickly as possible. I shift around in my seat, unable to find a comfortable position.

"What did you wish to discuss?" he inquires, turning to hand me a cup of mulled wine. I take a small sip before beginning, checking myself to make sure my nervousness isn't showing outwardly. My face a mask of calm. I can only hope that Henry isn't as shrewd a reader of my eyes as Francis or my fright and nervousness will be obvious.

"The alliance between our lands and the English throne," I return, getting straight to the point. "That is what I wish to discuss."

"Should Francis not be here?" he asks, moving to sit behind his desk.

"No," I shake my head. "This is between you and me. We are regents, not Francis."

He takes a moment, tenting his fingers, leaning back. "Well, I am intrigued. The two of you grew so close before you abruptly left, I suppose I assumed the two of you would have already spoken about this," he says after a few moments. "What do you want to discuss then?" He gestures between us with a raised brow. "Regent-to-regent."

I take my time, catching his eye, holding it. I've been reluctant to commit to his bid for the English throne, which has frustrated him. I know him to be an ambitious and greedy man, hungry for power. My refusal to give him the answer he desires has irritated him greatly. Defying a king in his own chateau is bad manners as far as he's concerned. I'd actually been surprised earlier when I wasn't made to wait a day to see him. Perhaps then I really didn't want to have this meeting today; perhaps I just wanted one more night in Francis's arms.

I take a deep breath and begin, "I am willing to claim the Throne of England..."

"This is wonderful news," Henry grins, slapping his hands together loudly.

"Im not finished," I say. "I have a condition, and if that condition is not met, I will not make that claim."

I let it settle on him for a moment. He rounds his fingers for me to go on, the grin vanishing from his face.

"If I marry Francis I will not make the claim," I continue evenly. "I wish for you to have Sebastian legitimized, declared your heir. I will marry him, the alliance will stay as is, only the Dauphin in question need change, and then - and only then - will I make the claim."

Henry is not a man to be surprised, but I see his jaw turn slack ever so slightly as I speak. No, he did not see that coming. If this weren't so important his reaction might make me laugh. But the stakes are high and Francis's life is at stake.

"You want me to do _what_?" he returns after a moment.

"I believe I was quite clear," I smile.

He shifts a couple of times in his chair, taking a few drinks from his cup.

"Let me see if I understand," he starts, having taken a few more moments. "You want me to dissolve my marriage to Catherine, which will make our children born outside of marriage, and then petition Rome to have Bash declared legitimate and my successor?"

"How you go about it is not _my_ concern," I dismiss with a wave. "If you want to get rid of Catherine that is for you to decide. I just know it will take the combined power of both Scotland and France for me to win the English throne, and the only way I get that is to marry the man who will succeed you. I am not willing to marry Francis. So making Sebastian your heir would be the next step."

"You could marry Charles," he offers.

"And be without an heir for another decade? I think not," I reject. "I need to marry someone who can be a strong leader if you happen to die soon, and more importantly who can be a strong consort and advisor to me."

He looks at me, staring hard into my eyes - trying to access my seriousness, my resolve.

"Alright," he begins. "If I do this, what do I do with Francis? Have him killed? He has allies. Powerful courtiers and members of the Church who regard him well."

"Give Francis land and a title - a duchy - which will give him people to care for," I reason, trying to not show my horror at the thought that he might have Francis killed, my arms tense, my legs lock together beneath my skirts. Thats the one thing I _don't_ want. "I don't mean for you to do nothing for him. I certainly don't mean for you to kill him."

"You think my son will be satisfied with a duchy?" he asks, incredulity dripping in his voice. A harsh, barking laugh coming from his mouth. "He has been trained and groomed his entire life to lead, to become king. And he is supposed to just accept this and be happy about it?"

"No, but that is not my concern," I say, evenly. "It is yours."

"Okay," he draws out, chuckling, shaking his head. "There's also the not so small matter of the reason you may claim the English crown is because your cousin is an illigitimate bastard. How will it look if you're trying to claim that crown with a legitimized bastard as your king?"

I knew this issue would arise; it is one of the things I worked out in my mind before requesting this meeting - it is my strongest move.

"I am the queen of Scotland, the claim is mine and mine alone," I reply, leaning forward, my hand on the desk. "Elizabeth is bastard born and seeks the crown for her own. It matters not if I marry Francis or Sebastian, for the claim is not theirs to make and no one doubts my legitimacy. If you back Sebastian, then the Pope would have no reason to not bless the union.

"And let's not jest. The Pope wants England. If my cousin is coronated the chances of that ever happening are very slim," I continue. "Then the Catholic Church loses England - perhaps forever. You really think the Pope is going to let England slip through his fingers? If he has any chance to save it? It will be his legacy, letting England slip from his grasp. And how will he look at you, the man responsible for allowing that to happen? Because he will know. I will make sure of it.

"You want England - I will give it to you - but this is my price," I finish, tapping the desk.

I can see the wheels turning in his head. I know how badly he wants this, wants to rule most of Western Europe before he leaves this earth. He is a greedy man, anxious for as much power as he can acquire. And that is my game - play against his weakness, his lust. Offer him that which he most desires, in exchange for that which I most desire. Everyone wins. Except Francis.

But I can't think of that now. If I think too long about how deeply this betrayal will cut, I'll crumble. I'm ripping away everything he cares about, and he will know this was a calculated move - not one made in haste without checking the board for other possible options. I can't think of any of it because his life is more important than anything else. He must live, even if it is to live that life at someone else's side.

"Alright," Henry says after several minutes, nodding. "You have a bargain."

"You are a true queen, Mary Stuart," he calls out as I open the door. I nod in return and hurry toward my rooms where I collapse on the couch, sobs wracking my body.

Francis said that to me once, in admiration, with love. It was the first time he told me he loved me without actually telling me. Now I'm driving a stake into that love. I should be overjoyed, I got exactly what I wanted. Instead I only feel an aching emptiness.

* * *

I hear rapid footsteps behind me, male from the heaviness. I'm going to the dungeons to have my newly betrothed released. He's been down here since we returned on his father's orders for being a party to his possibly losing the English throne.

"What the hell have you done?" an enraged Francis spits at me, yanking my arm to spin me around to face him.

I'm not ready for this. I don't think I'll ever be ready for this. But I am a queen. I must be strong. I must not flinch.

"It is inappropriate for you to address a queen regent until she has given her leave for you to speak," I answer. The only way I'm going to get through this is to hide behind a mask of protocol.

"I'm terribly sorry," he grates out, dropping my arm with a look of disgust. "I thought you were the woman whose bed I've shared the last four nights, the woman who gave me the scratches that are on my back. The woman that urged me to fuck her harder...more...to never stop. I thought you were the woman who claimed to love me - always - for the rest of your life. But I guess that was just one more lie to add to all the promises you broke when you struck this ludicrous deal with my progenitor."

I flinch when he calls our lovemaking "fucking." It can never be just that. Those were the happiest moments of my life. The most beautiful. They're the memories I will cling to always, knowing I've really felt what it is to love someone and give myself to him completely. He can't take those memories away from me - I need to fight against. letting him taint them.

"Be that as it may," I begin. "That's not who we are any longer."

"What the hell was last night?" he cuts in.

"Goodbye," I whisper, looking down at the ground. My arms are stiff, my nails biting into my fisted hands.

"So last night when you wouldn't allow me to sleep, you knew you were going to offer my father this deal?" he questions. "My birthright for England?"

I nod sharply, causing him to laugh bitterly. "Well at least I know you got your money's worth if you were going to treat me like a cheap whore! You even left payment on the table in the form of a duchy."

I balk at his characterization of what has been between us. Looking back at the floor, blinking away tears furiously, he can't see how shaky my resolve might be.

"I am the Dauphin of France," he finishes.

"That is for the Pope to decide," I volley back.

"I suppose it is," he nods. "But my father is not the only one with influence at the Papal court. The Medicis have great influence there, the last Pope being one of my uncles, and I guarantee when my mother finds about this nonsense she will be in touch with everyone she knows in Rome to help me stop this."

I take a deep breath. I should have calculated on his looking at this turn of events as a challenge to be met, not something to accept. I try one final time to get through, to make him understand.

"Why do you refuse to see that I'm doing all of this for you?" I implore. "That I just want you to live a long life, to find happiness again - it is my one comfort."

The tears gathering in my eyes cause his stance to soften. Taking my hand in his, he begins softly, "Mary?"

"No," I yank my hand out of his, lacing my fingers in front of me. "I've never lied to you," I breathe. "You may hate me, but I will love you for the rest of my life. I will not be the cause of your death."

He drops my hands, clasping his own behind his back, shaking his head. "I do not understand how an educated and intelligent woman such as yourself can let mysticism control her life. You say you love me, how can that be? You're trying to take every single thing that means anything away from me. The people I've sought to protect and serve, my country, and, yes - even still - _you_. All of my memories of us - from childhood to now - are ruined because of this fool's gambit you've embarked upon."

I don't know how to answer him, so I go forstraightforward, trying to get out of this. "The decision is made."

"No," he says emphatically. "It is not. You've played the king's pawn as your opening move. A strong one, I'll give you. But it's also always been your tell. You've always believed because I've always let you play white that you had the advantage, the king's pawn in your arsenal. But just because it is a strong opening move does not mean it always results in victory. Black has its own set of weapons and I mean to use them. You think this game is over, it's not. That is a guarantee. Black hasn't even made its first move."

He's right, he's always been the better strategist and tactician of the two of us. At times surveying a board like a hawk searching for his prey, to dive down and swiftly snatch up a kill. I should have known he would fight back. I knew when I started this that it wasn't an easy path I was choosing. Giving up the love, warmth, security and happiness that I've found in his arms. But I know I have made the right decision. Of that I am sure.

"I am the Queen of Scotland, Francis," I fall back to protocol, again trying to end this. Neither of us is changing the other's mind. "I do not answer to you."

"Wearing your title like armour will not help you," he flings back. "A pawn can become many things, but it can never become a king. You will find that out in time. Though what it might cost you, I hesitate to even wonder. My brother is many things, but careful, strategic and tactical are not amongst them. He also lacks patience."

"This is no longer your decision to make, Francis," I reply sharply. "Your father and I have struck a bargain. He gets what he wants, I get what I want. It's what _regents_ do - find a way to get what they desire." I know I'm hitting below the belt, but my blows need to strike both flesh and bone - hard.

"You would throw everything away for superstition!" he spits at me.

"No," I return, fighting to keep my voice even. "Because our union was only ever one piece of the puzzle, and I have found a suitable substitute."

"Ha!" he barks. "My brother and I might share a progenitor, but you're about to learn we can't just be swapped one for the other. I share some of his strengths but he shares few of mine," he finishes, his upper lip curling into a sneer.

"Anything he lacks, he can learn," I respond, my nails again gouging into my palms to keep my hands from seeking his. I need to comfort him. I want him to finally see that I'm really doing all of this for him. But I know if I weaken even the slightest, all will be lost. I must stay strong even though my stomach feels as if it's tied in a million knots, and my muscles ache from having to restrain them from keeping my body from seeking its home - his comfort.

"We shall see, I suppose," he says with a short, bitter laugh.

"I suppose we shall," I nod, forcing myself not to relax, seeing the end of this confrontation.

"You may think this is over, that you've won. But I guarantee you, you are wrong," he shoots back, his body ramrod straight, his eyes becoming steely and determination taking over his countenance. "Let this be a reminder and a warning," his voice softens, becoming very even. "I am the better chess player of the two of us. You think you have me in check-mate, but know this, it is false, and you are wrong. You will not steal my birthright, and I will capture my queen. I am patient, tactical and strategic, and I aim to win this game you've set in motion." He reaches out to capture my jaw giving me a hard kiss, pushing his way into my mouth. My jaw slackens, allowing him to do as he wants, my hands raising to his arms, cupping his elbows - clinging to him. He ends the kiss just as abruptly as he began it - ripping his mouth away. "You _are_ mine, and I am yours," he breathes, his forehead resting against mine. "This isn't the end of us!"

He straightens, turns on his heel and walks out. Steps rapid, posture stiff.

My body collapses in on itself and I seek stability from the filthy dungeon walls, arm across my belly.

What have I set in motion?

TBC

**Endnotes**:

1) I will use betrothed throughout this story, not fiancé/fiancée. While the terms are French in origin, they were not used till the 19th century, well after _Reign_ is set.

2) As Francis said the Pope at this time was not a Medici, and therefore family to him. However, the reigning Pope at this time is bookended by Medicis, from different branches of the family. They were an incredibly powerful & wealthy family, controlling trade routes in northern Italy, and Francis is a member of it through his mother. Which is why I considered Diane's legitimization plot a fool's errand from the start. Crossing the Medicis in Italy, not a good idea.

3) I needed this update to happen quickly, before ep 9 airs, but the rest will follow a weekly posting schedule. Except if they do not release ep 12-13 promo pics by the time I need them, then there will be a delay, but I will make a note when the chapter dealing with 11 is posted in 2 weeks.

4) Again, always - thank you so much to to **justcallmesmitty** & **Poligirl25**. I'm like runons inc. prettification is needed!

Reviews are love and so appreciated.


	3. Knight

**Knight**

"How are you?" I ask Bash. We are taking a short walk on the grounds as the sun sets.

It's been a few days since Francis quickly consulted with his mother and abruptly left the chateau. No one has any idea where he's gone. I'd told Henry about his threats regarding the Pope before he left for Rome; riders have been sent to scour the French countryside between here and the Italian border, but no word has yet come back.

He only took his second favorite horse, less sleek and swift than his favorite, but sturdy and sure footed and much more suited to a long journey. He was accompanied by eight young guards completely loyal to him, and no one else. They took food from the kitchens, oats for their horses, that is all.

That was a feint, however, all were dressed in similar plain traveling clothes. When they got to the nearest major crossroads they split up into parties of three each going different direction. Each a party of one blonde and two brown-haired men each. No one having any idea which party Francis was with, and which parties were merely decoys.

Francis has always been quick, but to come up with a plan this cunning at the spur of the moment was surprising - even for him.

"I'm not going to lie," Bash says, bringing me back. "I don't think I've ever had more appreciation for Francis than the last few days," he scrubs his face. Tension lines his features - it has since the moment Henry told him he was declaring him his heir. "I'm stuck with tutors for hours every single day, trying to drill into me about finances, diplomacy, martial strategy, shipbuilding and harbor maintenance, geography - you name it - they're trying to teach me. Then, when I'm not with tutors, courtiers are lined up at my heels, with questions and requests that are unending."

"Well that is the life of someone who will one day rule," I nod.

"I know," he sighs. "But it wasn't my life. I quite liked my life."

"Yes, the day I returned, Francis told me that no one ever worried about you dying that they didn't let you live, unlike him," I smile sadly thinking back to that day in my childhood rooms. "He said you could do what you wanted and go where you will. He quite envied you that."

"You know I want us to be happy, don't you?" He inquires, after a moment, grabbing one of my hands.

"Happiness is not essential to any alliance, but I suppose I hope that someday we find happiness," I say, pushing away tears that have begun to fall with the heel of my hand. "I am a queen and my first obligation is to my country, my people and its stability. This is what I must do. It's what I can live with. Happiness isn't necessarily part of that equation," I finish, thinking of what Catherine said to me. "But it is something I want."

I look up at him, this man who is becoming a true friend and wonder what the future truly holds for us. He knows how much I love Francis, and I'm not sure I'll ever love someone in the same way - I'm not sure I want to. It hurts too much, even though I would never change a thing. I tell myself that with time I will learn to love Bash, even if it's never quite the same. I was prepared to learn to love Tomás, after all. I think I can find at least contentment again - at least I hope I can.

Bash is usually patient with me, as he knows I'm mourning the love I lost and the dreams that will never be, though I don't think he has any idea how real, deep and shared those dreams were. Dreams of growing old together, shrieks and the sounds of tiny feet against the floors of the chateau, dreams of watching mine and Francis's children and grandchildren be born and grow. Dreams of love and laughter, friendship and companionship. Even dreams of disagreeing and then making up.

Time, I just need time - time to mourn what was and let go of what will never be; time to find new dreams; time to learn to hope for babies with aquamarine eyes, rather than ones the color of the sky; brown-haired instead of tow-headed. Time to learn a different set of arms can be just as comforting and secure.

"But..." he starts.

"No," I cut him off, "it's what I can live with." Francis was wrong. Love isn't irrelevant, even to people like us. It's everything, and I've made the only choice I can bear to live with, even if it costs me every bit of joy and happiness in my life - even if he hates me. I have to figure out how to put the past in the past and begin to move forward.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Sebastian," I greet Bash when he comes onto the balcony where my ladies and I are having our midday meal. I'm learning to remember to call him by his given name, now that he is the future king.

"I wanted you to know that I will be out of the chateau most of the day tomorrow," he says.

"Oh," I return. "Do you have to meet a courtier?"

"No, it's a personal matter," he waves off.

"Might I come with you?" I ask.

"There's no need, truly," he replies.

"I really would like to come," I say. "I haven't left here since we were brought back by King Henry."

"Very well," he nods.

* * *

We leave just after breaking our fasts the next morning. Not much is said during the carriage ride. Bash is tense, I get the feeling he really wishes I were not here. He is quite overdressed for this outing, looking a bit like a popinjay unfurling all its feathers.

An hour later we arrive at a debtor's prison on the outskirts of Rouen. Bash asks the guards to stay with the carriage. When I move to get out, he stops me, asking me to stay here.

I will admit I don't take well to people telling me what to do. But he could have at least warned me at some point that he truly did not want me here, or that he would not allow me to do anything - I could have brought a book.

He emerges three-quarters of an hour later with a young woman. She is a peasant from her clothes and dirty face, but I can see she is quite pretty under the dirt. I gasp, however, when I see her heavily pregnant body. He's handing her a small bag. I move to get out of the carriage.

"What are you doing, Sebastian?" I question sharply.

"Get back in the carriage, Mary," he replies, his tone exasperated.

"Are you paying her off?" I ignore him and continue strongly. "Is she carrying your child?" I feel sick to my stomach, Olivia's name and face rushing to the forefront of my thoughts.

"Mary, if you..." he answers.

"No!" I say pointedly, he's not getting away with not answering my question. "Is the child she carries yours?"

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yes," he finally concedes.

"And you plan to pay her off with a small bag of silver or gold that will not last her but a short while?" I continue. "This is your child, it is your responsibility. That you would consign a child to the life you know could have easily been yours is unacceptable," I finish, turning to the young girl. I stifle a gasp - she is wearing the exact same pendant that was left on my pillow in late summer, the symbol of the pagans.

"My name is Mary," I say with a smile. "This is what we are going to do." She tells me her name is Isobel. I proceed to lay out a plan for Bash buy a small cottage her. To provide her and her child with a small - but steady - income so she can support herself and his child. I suggest the location be near the chateau, so he can easily visit them if he so chooses, though I get the impression he won't.

I had thought the situation between Francis and Olivia was bad; this is much worse. Francis wasn't careless enough to get Olivia - or anyone else he slept with after she left court - pregnant. I have to wonder if there are more women - more bastards. Did any of them even get a bag of silver or gold?

* * *

"_Sebastian_!" I call out in a panic, hurrying into the throne room where an assassin has tried to kill him. "Are you..."

"I'm not hurt," he assures me. I see a bit of blood, my hands seeking the wound. "It's not bad, I do need to see a medic, however. We need to find out who is behind this."

"Yes," I nod.

"We have no idea where he is, it could have been Fr..."

"_No_!" I cut in. I won't even countenance the thought. "Francis might be angry about what has been done, but he's not a vindictive person. I know this about him."

"I suppose you're right," he concedes after a moment. His hesitation chills me - he jumped to Francis' name so quickly. As if he perhaps wanted it to be Francis.

"It could have been Catherine," I say firmly. "This would be very much her style."

"True," he agrees. "But how would she communicate with anyone?"

"Catherine ruled here for many years, she has her own allies," I return. "You are a threat to everything she cares about. She is the obvious party behind this attempt."

* * *

"My lord, it is the first Tuesday of the month," one of Henry's advisors says, hurrying up to us.

"And?" Bash questions. We are planning to go riding together. It has been a few days since the incident at the debtors prison, days we didn't really speak to one another. I suggested a ride as a way to try to heal the breech between us since the incident with Isobel. I've tried to advise and guide him regarding his new responsibilities, but he wants none of my opinions, none of my help.

"On the first Tuesday of the month citizens come from far and wide, many great distances, to seek the king's justice," the advisor explains. "They are many here today and they are waiting just outside the throne room. You must fill in with your father, as his named heir. That is what Prince Francis has done for the last few years."

"But I will not," Bash refuses with a shake of his head. "I am not my brother."

"Myself and Gustave de..." he persists.

"I said I am not filling in for my father today!" Bash cuts him off, adjusting his new frock coat, as if it does not fit him properly.

"But my lord, it is your duty as the king's named heir to attend to his affairs in his absence," Henry's advisor ignores Bash's refusal. I don't understand his reluctance; this is his first chance to show himself to his new people as their future leader. It is his duty. There is no place for petulance in the life of a ruler. "And with the queen confined, these people, many have come several days, leaving homes and crops unattended to seek the justice of the king, it must be dispensed, _today_!"

"My lord," I interject, putting my hand on his arm. "Perhaps I might offer a solution. I could fill in for King Henry today, would that be acceptable? I don't know all the customs of France, but you already said you and another legal advisor would be on hand. If I am unsure, I will seek your counsel. We cannot let these people down."

"But we were going riding," Bash protests, like a child having a favorite treat taken away.

"Every ruler's first duty is to the people under their care," I return in a stern, even voice, disbelieving he would put a pleasure ride ahead of the needs of the people he wishes to rule someday. "Enjoyment is for after your duty is fulfilled."

"Then come find me after your _duty_ is fulfilled!" he shoots back, then stalks off. I want to shake my head at the absurdity of his response, but I can't. What does he think ruling is? Parties, galas and better clothes? He will have to learn to temper himself, because ruling is really about duty and responsibility, and the weight of knowing the lives of an entire country's people are in your hands. He will learn. He must.

"Yes, Your Grace," Henry's advisor beams at me. "That would be an acceptable alternative, right this way," he finishes, holding out a hand to to point the way he wishes to guide me.

* * *

Bash cuts his palm, saying words I do not recognize, but I know they have to do with the pagans who tried to terrorize me with that stag's head.

"What are you doing? How do you even know how to do that? What is the meaning of this?" I question rapidly, my voice rising.

"This is what I have to do to get us out of here alive," he says, fisting his hand, allowing the blood to drip onto the forest floor.

"I don't understand, how is it you know of this blood sacrifice, how do you know their customs?" I question sharply. An owl hoots, making me startle.

"I am not one of them," he begins.

"Perhaps not," I push back, "but you know their ways and customs. So there must be a connection."

"It is not for you to worry about," he snaps, "I am trying to keep us alive here."

"I think I deserve an explanation of exactly who the man I'm betrothed to is," I hear my voice rising, panic coming through. "I am a Catholic, the Pope and my mother want me to claim the English throne in the name of the Roman Catholic Church! Isobel wore the same necklace that was placed on my pillow by the pagans. And you are a pagan?"

"I am as Catholic as you, I practice my father's rel..." he stops, realizing what he has revealed.

"Your mother is a pagan?" I breathe out, feeling faint. _King Henry wants to marry a pagan_?

"No..."

"You should not lie to the Queen of Scots," a disembodied voice floods the forest. Every muscle in my body tenses, every hair on my body standing on end. I can hear every leaf rustle, every tree as it sways. I can't see through the thick darkness, but the voice came from behind me. "You know she is right, Diane de Poitiers is one of us. You know this, Sebastian. Your blood is familiar to us."

"I am a Catholic," Bash calls back. " I have always practiced the religion of my father."

"Then how do you know our ways, our language, our customs?" the voice speaks. I feel as if he plucked the questions right out of my head - as if the chill night air has floated them to this voice.

"I...I...I..." he stammers.

"You know our ways and customs because they are familiar to you. Our blood is familiar to you. You are drawn to the woods, you are drawn to this place - because it is a part of you," the man with the voice continues. I hear trees creaking in the wind. "But the man you sacrificed was precious to us, he was our guide, our priest, for that you still owe our people a debt, and we will continue to haunt your steps till we get satisfaction."

"How am I supposed pay this debt," Bash snaps. "You want me to hand you my betrothed?"

"No, this does not involve the Queen of Scotland," the voice returns. "It was foolish to bring her here, things happen here at night that are not always controllable. But, no, Sebastian, you can pay the debt - and you alone. When you are ready to pay the debt you will return."

"You wanted a life," he yells. "Any life I was told. I gave you a life for a life. The debt is paid!"

"What was the crime of the man that you pushed off that cliff?" the man calls back. What is he talking about. What man?

"How..." He starts and stops just as quickly. But it was enough for me to know that the man with the disembodied voice spoke the truth, making me realize just how little I truly know about Sebastian.

"The crows have eyes," the voice returns, a bird screaming its answer. "They saw your sin. They know what you have done. You will never wear the crown, not of France. We will collect payment from you for your crimes against us. If not tonight, then in the future. Know this always - your future lies on a different path than the one you are on. You know this path, it is familiar to you. When you accept your fate only then will the debt be paid."

A cold wind suddenly swept through the forest, rustling every leaf, causing me to shiver. I'm not certain if the shiver was from the cold or the man's voice and what he said. Who is Sebastian, really? _To whom have I entrusted my life and my people to? To whom has Henry trusted his line_?

In the distance a wolf howls.

* * *

"I'll wait for you outside," I say, and keep moving forward, coming to a fork in the hallway, hiding behind a pillar to hear what is being said.

"The water is mine, as much as it is theirs," the courtier explains. "To create a dam preventing me from being able to access to the water is a clear violation of my fealty treaties with the king."

"And exactly what do you expect me to do about it?" I detect the impatience in his voice.

"I would like you to explain that the water has always been shared that it is not the property of one family," the courtier replies.

"You want me to ride to Lyon and tell this person to take down a dam?" I can hear the incredulity dripping in his words.

"No, no," the courtier protests. " A letter would suffice, for now. One with your official seal would..." he trails off. Bash doesn't have the Dauphin's Seal of State ring - Francis does. Henry never took it from him.

"You will have to wait for the king to return before such a letter may be drafted," he snaps.

"I understand that but as the new Dauphin, I would think it is your duty to intervene in disputes such as this between two houses sworn in fealty to the king," the courtier presses.

"You will have to wait for the king!" he shoots back.

"But your brother..." The courtier tries once again.

"_I am not my brother_!" he growls, cutting him off. I hear his boots rapidly retreating the other direction.

I sigh. He doesn't seem to want any advice from me about how to rule - but he must learn what a ruler truly is. A servant to his people. His people must always come first. Perhaps when Henry returns this will all be sorted out.

* * *

...he will learn, with time, how to become a ruler. How to be judicious, fair-minded, compassionate. How to be more cautious and less reckless. More patient. He will learn how to be the man his country - and mine - need him to be. This is all very new to him and mistakes have to be expected.

I am learning - not all knights come with shining armor, some have feet of clay.

I must learn patience, treat him as a partner. Perhaps begin to share my knowledge and tutoring with him. Give him suggestions of things he can read to help him.

I have only one direction to go, that is forward. Francis and our love is in the past. It must stay there.

TBC

**Endnotes**:

1) I structured this chapter as I did because it's the one I have the least handle on. Little about this episode makes sense to me so I tried to make it make as much sense as is possible in my mind. I know I kinda left the camping trip out that seems to be a big part of this episode, but I can't make sense of it, I think it's about the assassin, but I'm not completely sure. And it looks ridiculous to me. Did I succeed, I'm honestly not sure.  
2) I put Francis leaving at the beginning because for my continuity it makes more sense. I'm fairly certain he leaves at the end of the episode. I'm standing by the rest of the scenario I created for him.  
3) I believe Bash's story is going to be with the pagans ultimately, and that's what I was trying to weave here. I've become iffy on if Isobel is actually pregnant with Bash's child or if she's perhaps his cousin. It all ties to the pagan storyline. Of that, I'm sure.

**Playlist**:

1) Red, Taylor Swift, live CMA version  
2) Better Man, Pearl Jam  
3) Solitary Thinkin', Leeann Womack  
4) Say Something, A Great Big World  
5) Let Her Go, Passenger  
6) Long Trip Alone, Dierks Bentley  
7) Distant Shore, Dierks Bentley

As always all reviews & comments are greatly appreciated.


	4. Bishop

**Bishop**

The court gathers to greet the king as he's returning from Rome with Bash's legitimacy from the Pope. As soon as word arrived as to when Henry would return, I began planning a celebration and investment - though there is still no signet ring to be given to Bash. Francis has it, and we haven't found a jewel smith who can make a new one.

We move to greet him as the carriage stops, but he bangs open the door before the footman can open it, forcefully striding past the waiting court. We move quickly to follow - I'm almost having to run. This can't be a sign of good news.

"Get that Medici bitch from the tower. At once!" Henry barks at the first door guard he sees, sending the man scurrying.

We follow him to his study, closing the door behind.

"I take it things in Rome..." I begin.

"Giovanni Cardinal Medici was at Papal Court," Henry begins, anger and exasperation infusing his tone. My heart constricts at the word 'Medici.' "It seems that His Holiness believes that God has blessed my union with my Medici wife and the offspring of that marriage. I have sufficient heirs by my good wife. If I want to give land and titles to my favored bastard I am welcome to, but no annulment will be granted without cause. His Holiness made very clear I had presented no cause. And no legitimization either. 'Young Francis is your heir,' he said. 'This is as God wills it.'"

"Did you mention that I am willing to claim the English crown if I marry Sebastian?" I query. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Henry left so confident of success. This has to work. There is no other option.

"Of course," Henry snaps. "His Holiness," he continues with a sneer, "says that my consecrated heir is the strongest consort for you to claim the English throne with - that he has prayed upon this and it is God's own will. Not the Queen of Scotland's will," he keeps going, his eyes boring straight into mine, "or the King of France's, but God's own will!"

No, this can't be happening. The Pope is supposed to want the English flock enough to overlook this. There must be a way.

"Where is Francis?" Henry asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"No one has seen him since he left," I reply. "He's not..." I trail off at a sharp knock at the door of Henry's study.

"Enter!" he barks.

"Your Grace, the Queen," the door guard announces.

"Leave us," Henry says.

"But," I begin, wanting to protest.

"No," Henry cuts me off, shaking his head. "Leave us."

* * *

I hear the door snick closed, my maid coming to wash my hair, I'm sure.

I feel someone behind me, and then something sharp to my throat. My eyes pop open in fright. Catherine is right next to my ear.

"Do you really think you can try to destroy the lives of my children and then use your little girls to try to destroy me with no consequences?" she whispers with a sneer.

"I did what you begged me to do," I breathe back. I can feel the knife pressing into my neck.

"To what?" she continues. "It was my idea that you steal Francis' birthright? That you make all my children bastards, ruining all their lives? To turn a pagan bastard into the next king?"

"My mother says I must marry the next King of France," I return, trying to turn my head to look at her, but it's impossible.

"So you're just a little girl, not really a queen after all," she mocks. "Since you just follow Mommy's instructions..."

"Get away from her!" Bash yells as he and guards rush into the bathing chamber. They pull Catherine off me the knife clattering against the stone floor. I scramble to cover myself.

"You have made a choice that will be your _ruin_," she yells as the guards drag her away.

"Are you alright?" Bash asks, rubbing my arm.

"Can everyone please turn around?" I request, unsteadily. The guards turn immediately, Bash doesn't. "You as well Sebastian," I sigh. He finally turns and I secure the wrap around myself, preserving as much of my modesty as possible, stepping out of the tub.

"I am fine," I say, once I feel secure. "She didn't hurt me."

"Are you sure?" he insists, holding my neck in his hands, searching for marks.

"Yes, I'm sure," I reply, stepping back. I'm only in a bath sheet, and don't feel comfortable with all these men in the room. "I'd really like some privacy, if you don't mind."

"But..."

"I'm fine," I cut him off.

Once they are all gone, I move to the window to collect my thoughts.

Looking out, the beautiful evening doesn't match the conflict inside the chateau, the world seems so unsettled - off balance. Catherine is desperate, and she will destroy the world before she lets someone else win. Bash is her current target, but if she knocks him off she will come after me next. Catherine has been playing these games of thrones much longer than I have. But I can be cunning too. I must be. I must beat her.

* * *

We've been standing here for hours as Henry's sénéchaussées, the Viscount Delecroix questions witnesses. Guards bring in person after person - none seeming to have any evidence of actual adultery on Catherine's behalf. Next to me Bash fidgets, moving his feet, adjusting his weight, sighing, adjusting his collar and cuffs, rocking back and forth, and blowing air out of his cheeks, before starting the whole thing over again. Henry has shot him irritated looks, not seeming to appreciate Bash's clear lack of interest and desire to be elsewhere.

As if this doesn't affect him. If Henry can't get his marriage to Catherine annulled then there will be no legitimization. There will be no marriage between us. So this affects him as much as it does anyone else in the room. And still he fidgets.

He says he wants to be my husband, that I will always be his top priority. But this - my country, my people - they must always be my top priority.

Kenna is brought in to tell what she knows of the Queen's crimes. What she tells of Aylee's death and Catherine's reaction to Diane trying to have Bash legitimized might get Catherine's head removed from her neck, but it does absolutely nothing to the line of succession. Neither does her tale of the poisoned cat.

A young noble is brought, and more members of the Privy Council come in, loitering around the edges of the throne room. Gustave Bishop Beauchamp, the Papal Ambassador to France has also put in an appearance, deep in conversation with one of Henry's advisors on foreign affairs.

Catherine has stood behind the witnesses and guards all day. Back straight, head held high - the picture of queenly dignity and defiance - not uttering a word as witnesses try to defame and shame her. She is not rattled. Her eyes scan the room every few minutes taking in who has entered the throne room and who has left.

The young noble tells of flirting, as if that will be evidence Rome will accept to change the line of succession. There must be witnesses to adultery. Nothing less will gain the desired result.

She steps forward for the first time this day, "Might I address the king?" she smiles. It's not a smile of warmth, but of calculation. Something has happened that makes her feel she has gained some sort of advantage. I feel my stomach clench.

"Go ahead," Henry complies with a frown.

"Thank you my good husband," she inclines her head, acknowledging him. "I would suggest that rather than chasing shadows that do not exist - though there are many things I may be accused of and perhaps convicted of, one is loving my children too much," she continues, saying the last part directly to me, her eyes boring into mine. "But you will never find evidence of my unfaithfulness. It does not exist. You are thinking too much like a man, Henry. While you may not ever get enough of playing the rutting stag, I find it tedious outside of the fact that it has given me beautiful children. Why would I take a lover?

"But there is a much more interesting crime we have not discussed today" she keeps going, pacing herself, building to a dramatic moment. "That of the pagan child which your son - whom you are trying to install as your heir - is harboring. And of Sebastian's pagan ties and beliefs, as well."

Gasps are heard throughout the room. Bishop Beauchamp looks from Catherine to Henry, before settling on Bash.

"Yes, Your Excellency, a pagan child has been brought into this chateau. Young Sebastian did foster the child out, but he is paying for her care," she quirks the smallest of smiles. It has become so hushed a mouse could be heard scurrying in the throne room. "The man sent here to guard young Sebastian, also a pagan, the mother of the child's uncle. Also, Sebastian's uncle. His name is Alec, I believe. He was sent by his half-sister, my good husband and king's longtime mistress, Diane de Poitiers."

"Your Grace," Bishop Beauchamp moves forward to address Catherine. Henry looks like he is going to explode, his face turning the red of his tunic. Catherine has upended his game board and strategy. "The Church is extremely concerned with the idea of pagans being given safe harbor. Do you have proof of your accusations?"

"The child had a mother, her name was Isobel," Catherine smiles.

"Was?" the bishop asks.

"Yes, she died giving birth in the Blood Wood, the wood that harbors these pagans," she pauses for dramatic effect. "Young Sebastian there, and his betrothed, the Most Catholic and consecrated by His Holiness himself, Mary, Queen of Scots, laid her to rest at the edge of the Blood Wood in a pagan blood ceremony. Her body is all the evidence you need. She will be marked and that mark is all the proof anyone needs. They take pride in their defiance of the Church, His Holiness and God - Our most Heavenly Father - Himself." Catherine is almost grinning in triumph. The entire inside of my body is seized with fear. I feel as if I might be sick. But she's not quite done. "She was a prisoner for a short time here in this chateau, and was spirited out of the dungeon in disguise by the Queen of Scotland and the bastard seeking to steal my sons' birthright. There are witnesses, ones who will come forward. All that is needed is the body!"

If she gets evidence, it won't be her head that is claimed by the headsman - it will be mine.

* * *

"Catherine will never stop till she finds evidence of my ties to paganism," Bash says. "I don't like putting you at risk."

"I know," I sigh. I know he's right - she will fight to the death for her life and legacy and that of her children. "But we can't let her win, I am committed to to that."

"You're committed to beating Catherine, or you're committed to me?" he questions.

"I am committed to both," I return firmly.

"Yes, but it's all tied up in beating Catherine. I'm just a side product," he continues.

"I am committed to you, to us." I brush off his implications.

"But will you ever love me the way you..." he begins.

"My heart is open," I gently cut him off before he brings up Francis, widening my eyes to try to convey the truth of my pronouncement.

Something sparks in his eyes. He cups my face, reaching down to kiss me. He pushes his lips into mine, wrapping one arm around my waist.

He pulls me more firmly to him. I feel his lips moving down my neck, then across my chest. I make my body soften and give into his passion. I will my heart to race, to feel something. His hand comes to cup my breast and I feel his other hand searching for my laces, causing me to stiffen and pull away.

"Sebastian, no," I say firmly. "I must be inspected before we marry and consummate our union, I must remain chaste." Never mind that I have to figure out a way to fake my way through said inspection. I gave myself before marriage once, out of love and passion. I'm not doing it again. Not when I don't love him yet. I still hope to one day, but I'm not there yet - certainly not enough to lose myself in a moment of passion.

"I'm sorry," he hangs his head, hands dropping to his sides. "I suppose I've never really had to think about that."

"It's quite alright," I nod, reaching out to hold one of his hands. They swallow mine. "But I think I will say goodnight," I finish reaching up to kiss his cheek.

* * *

"It seems you finally made it out of your tower," I call out to Catherine who has just walked into the stables.

"Yes," Catherine smirks. "It seems to pay to have friends in high places."

"I'm sure it is just a temporary reprieve," I return tightly.

"We shall see," she continues blithely. "You backed the wrong horse, my dear Mary. Marrying a pagan and trying to install him as the king of France. It will cost you not only England, but your own crown and likely your head."

"It will be hard to destroy us both when you are without _your_ head," I say.

"So it is to be a race, is it? Which one of us will crush the other first?" she smiles.

"When the axe falls on your neck, I will be there," I reply.

"We'll see," she chuckles. "Medicis were ruling the greatest city in the world when your ancestors were still mucking about on the moors. I know how these games are played, and I know how to win. Do you? And when Francis finds out you have conspired to destroy and murder his mother, well, I'm sure you've already lost his heart with the way you've tried to take everything from him. But you will have made him an enemy as well," she finishes, sweeping past me. I feel her verbal slap as if she had struck me across my cheek.

* * *

"We must hurry," I rush up to Bash and Alec while they are saddling horses. "Catherine is gathering her forces already; she cannot beat us there!"

"I sent a messenger ahead," Alec assures. "A single person can travel fast. Plus the crows see."

I don't know what he means by the last bit. I don't think I want to. I'm not going to ask many questions today. I just know that our tracks must be covered and evidence of Isobel's paganism and connection to Bash scrubbed clean.

"The baby!" I exclaim, remembering. "Isobel put a mark on her before she died. If they find her..."

"I believe the child will be safe," Alec reassures. At least he appears confident. "We have an underground network which I have notified. She will be far away soon. We need to mount up, though."

We swing into our saddles. Clicking heels into horses, we take off. Catherine is right, it's a race. A race to a fresh grave. A race to real evidence that could mean Bash's life. Alec's life. And possibly my own.

The grave is on the other side of the Blood Wood, but the fastest way there is around, not through. We set a fast pace, my teeth feeling like they will clatter out of my head. There is nothing to it though - we have no choice - we must be as quick as is possible.

It takes a few hours, there are no signs of Catherine or her guards - I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. We have no idea where they are or what direction they might have taken.

We get to the grave and dismount. It's empty. Who emptied it, I do not know. "Where is it?" I ask.

"The others took the body," Alec says, bending down, pointing to a symbol traced in the dirt. He begins to say words in the pagan language and like before, Bash joins him. Feeling even more uncomfortable than I did the first time, I turn to look the way from which we have come - which is when I see tiny specs on the horizon, specs which are getting larger.

"They're coming! We have to go," I whirl about, interrupting Bash and Alec mid-ritual.

"We must..." Bash begins.

"There is no time, we must go _now_!" I insist.

We mount up once again. Bash, pointing toward the edge of the woods. "There's a cabin there, where we should be able to take shelter."

"We'll be sitting ducks," Alec calls back. "We'll circle around back. The two of you can stay there. I will take the horses and travel into the wood."

"Is it a good idea to split up?" I question, panic rising in my voice.

"We have to," Bash yells back. "That way there are still tracks from three horses, they might be thrown off, even though the weight differential will be noticeable, and Alec can lose them in the wood."

I nod my assent - I don't really have any choice - and follow them toward the small hut at the edge of the Blood Wood. We circle around the back, Bash and I dismounting; Alec taking the reigns of our horses and forging into the wood.

Bash directs me inside and to a room to the right. "There is a false wall in this room, we can hide there."

I don't ask how he knows this, as he herds me inside. It's a tiny crawl space - barely big enough for one, and certainly not big enough for two. We wedge ourselves inside, pulling the door shut behind us.

Just as the door latches, we hear horses outside and a gruff voice call out orders: "You three, search the hut, everyone else, into the wood, we have to find them." I feel a cold sweat break out on my body.

Heavy boots scrape against the wooden floor, spurs jangling. Not much is said, but we can hear them tearing the place apart. "No one is here," one finally calls out.

"No, let's go follow the Captain. They must have thought they could find refuge in the Blood Wood," another voice returns.

The boots begin to move in the direction of the back door, then outside. Hoof beats begin to fade, my body collapsing in on itself from relief of having missed being found.

"Let's get out of here," Bash suggests. "There's hardly any air here."

He unlatches the panel, and I almost fall out of our hiding place. He steadies me, then pulls me into his arms. "Are you alright?" he murmurs into my hair.

"We need to find Alec," I say, shrugging gently out of his arms.

"Yes, of course," he agrees.

We set off, now on foot, but Bash can track the hoof prints of our horses. He stops every so often to check and recheck the ground. We've been following the trail for more than half an hour when he turns. "Once my pagan ties only put me in danger, but now you..."

"We don't have time for this now," I cut him off. We will have to deal with this reckoning. But not today, not right now. "We must find Alec."

He nods, and turns back, checking the ground again. A horse whinnies and races past us. It's Alec's horse. We look at one another. I feel a sense of foreboding coming over me, the cold sweat breaking out once more.

"Hurry," Bash says, pointing in the direction the horse had come from. We keep trudging till we hit a bit of a ridge line, where we can see the forest below us.

I gasp, hand to throat - I feel faint at the sight below us.

Hung upside down, throat slit, is Alec.

* * *

I dismiss my maid. It's been an exhausting few days. Fruitless and dangerous. I strip off my habit, using the cloth at the washstand to get off the grime. I just want my bed and I'm too tired to wait for the servants to bring water for a bath - though I desperately want to be clean. We had to travel through the Blood Wood on foot to make it back to the chateau.

I almost trip as I move from my dressing table to my bed. There's some sort of small lump I've never noticed in the carpet. I go to straighten it and realize there's something underneath. I reach under and feeling something soft I pull it out.

A man's stocking.

Francis's stocking. My heart stops, my body collapsing onto the floor.

I put it to my nose, breathing it in. While it's not the most pleasant scent I've ever smelled - sweat, dirt and filth from being on his foot in his boot all day - I can still smell that distinct smell that is so uniquely his. Citrus, bay, soap. It takes my breath away. Memories flood back. Tears blur my vision.

I haven't been able to even think about him. If I look back, if I remember, I'll never be able to move forward - never be able to pretend that what my life is becoming is just as fulfilling as what it was.

"_Oh I'll pressure you... and listen to you, and argue with you ...and love you until the day I die_."

I cover my mouth as a sob escapes. Francis understood me - everything about me. My burdens, the sacrifices I will have to make for the good of my people. He understood because he took those same burdens seriously as well. Which is something Bash apparently has no desire for. Francis always understood that while those responsibilities had to come first, I wanted love and happiness in my life too. He wanted to share my burdens, help with the load, and find joy where we could...

I push my tears away with the heel of my hand. Getting up, I shove his stocking into a drawer of my bedside table. I shove his memory there as well, slamming it shut. No good will come of living in the past, might-have-beens, or maybes.

What's done is done. The past must stay there.

TBC

**Endnotes**:

1) I will definitely be taking a break. I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, and actually have a bit of it written, but I'm kinda burnt out at the moment. I wrote 7000+ words last weekend between this and the other piece I posted and I just need a break. I need to just chill and putter for at least one weekend. Look for the Rook chapter the Tuesday that the show comes back.  
2) one of y'all questioned my Bash characterization in a comment last week, and I responded. I got a positive response back and was encouraged to post it somewhere. So I put it in a twilonger message, there is a link in my profile if you're interested in reading it.  
3) I forgot to thank them last week, and that was a horrible omission. So much thanks and gratitude go out to **justcallmesmitty** & **Poligirl25**. **Justcallmesmitty** is an amazing beta who fixes every comma, clause and grammatical error I make - and I make a lot. My brain is etched with the idea that thoughts = sentences, and I aim to prove it week-after-week. **Poligirl25** is a wonderful beta as well, but she's also my sounding board and spec partner. This story honestly wouldn't exist without her help and contribution. There are just not enough words to thank either of you enough.


	5. Rook

**Rook**

"Have you really thought through the full repercussions of your actions?" Catherine asks me. I don't know why, but some of what she said to me whilst trying to kill me rang true. Her desperation and concern for her children. She wasn't just trying to kill me, she was trying to save them. Just like when she came to me about the prophecy, she was trying to save Francis. I might not approve of her methods, but I know her love for her children is deep, abiding and protective. My current situation is proof of that. "When the Vatican legitimizes Bash and Henry takes off my head those boys will be orphans."

"They will still have their father," I reply hesitantly, though I know this is not necessarily true.

"Ha," Catherine bitterly returns. "How much attention do you think they will really get as he cavorts with his new bride Diane? You know yourself he had no love for Francis, why would he treat any better the other children of the wife who betrayed him and he has killed?"

I look to the floor - I know she's speaking the truth. Henry always treated Francis with equal parts neglect and as if he were a rival, not his son. I feel my stomach clench. The only person who will be left at the chateau who cares for Charles and little Henry is me. They adore Francis and worship Bash as a hero, but he never makes time for them like Francis did. And as no one knows where Francis is, I'm all they have left.

I feel tears coming to my eyes. I know what it is to be motherless - to yearn for a mother's love and comfort, and not be able to reach out for it; to have no one to soothe my fears, night terrors or give me assurance when frightened; to bolster my confidence and teach me right from wrong.

It takes me a few minutes before I realize this is the one thing I can do, one thing to remain true and honor to the love I shared with Francis. I can make sure his beloved brothers are protected and well cared for. I can love them for both Catherine and him. If they don't have a mother anymore, then I will be their mother from now on.

"Catherine," I say softly, reaching for her hand; "you may not trust me in this, but I pledge to you on my honor as the Queen of Scotland and the love I still have for your eldest son, that I will not allow Charles and Henry to be motherless. I won't let anything happen to them if I have anything to do with it. I will be their mother and sister. I will love them. I will protect them. I promise you this."

She looks at me hard for several moments, taking my measure, the fire still flaming in her eyes even as she accepts her fate. This is her last concern, her true last request. She nods, squeezing my hand, "Thank you."

* * *

I find Bash in the stables. I want to tell him my plan before getting the boys hopes up. "Sebastian," I call out, getting his attention. He turns and smiles at me. "I want to let you know I plan to be away in the village today with Charles and Henry. There's a frost fair in the village this morning. I want to take them - just us three. Something special to take their minds off their troubles."

"That sounds nice," he nods. "I can go with you."

"No," I shake my head. "I'd like it to just be the three of us, if you will. We'll take guards, to be safe."

I want this to just be us. To begin to forge a new relationship between us. If I'm to be their mother and sister, I want them to know they can rely on me, trust me. It is my pledge to Catherine and my duty to Francis.

"Then I shall see you later today?" he asks.

I nod confirmation before turning to go find the boys.

* * *

They both have a million questions when I get to the nursery. _Where is Francis? When will he be back? Why can't they see their mother? _Questions I don't know the answer to. The ones about their mother I don't want to answer. I might be taking on the role of their mother, but it doesn't escape me that they will one day know that my hands are not clean when it comes to their mother's death, that her blood will forever stain my hands. Will they hate me someday because of it? Possibly. Probably. But that day is not today, and I will deal with it when the time comes.

Fortunately they are distracted by the idea of a fair, their excitement is cheers my mood. I ask one of the guards to fetch me some day-old bread and spelt water to help me with my queasy stomach and meet us at the carriage.

"Will there be ice skating?" Charles asks once we are on our way.

"I'm sure there will. It is a frost fair after all," I smile back at him. I remember ice skating with Francis when we were children. He always helped me up when I fell. The winter he taught me to skate is one of my fondest memories. Even though we are farther north, the area of Scotland where I was born and lived till coming to France was more temperate. We didn't get enough snow or ice for our ponds to freeze over enough to skate safely.

"Perhaps," I smile. "It wouldn't be a frost fair without skating, would it?"

"No," he grins back. "It wouldn't. Henry doesn't know how to skate very well."

"Then we shall hold his hands and let him skate between us," I smile back. It feels like the first genuine smile I've managed in a very long time.

Being with Charles, and especially Henry, brings back a flood of memories I've been trying to bury. To forget. Memories of a time when smiles and laughter were easy, love was freely given, hopes and dreams were whispered and shared. I push away the thought that Henry might be what a child of mine and Francis's might have looked like. It does me no good. The thought has already burrowed into my mind - my heart.

All I'd wanted was to love and be loved by Francis. Bash was wrong - I didn't fall in love with Francis just because he was my betrothed and the Dauphin. I fell in love with him because he was still the boy I once knew; because he was the one person who truly understood my burdens and sought to lighten them; because he let me go freely when he thought it was what was best for my people; because he loved me in spite of his fears; because he cared for me even when I'd betrayed his trust. I fell in love with him because he exceeded every girlish dream I'd ever had of him.

And now I'm here, taking into my care perhaps the last and only connection I will ever have with him. I'm stuck, with no way out - claiming a country I don't want, with a man who doesn't seem to want nor care to know my burdens or struggles; who cares not to understand what it is to be a ruler, though it is now his future to rule; who I suspect would not let me go even if it was what is best for me or my people. He says he will physically protect me from all who seek to harm me, but that's just one of my worries...

The carriage lurches. "_The Medici princes...Queen Catherine and her lies...their time is numbered...whore..._" I can hear the indistinct yelling outside.

"Get down!" I command the boys, pushing them to the floor of the carriage.

I cover them both in my cloak, seeking to shield them. I can feel the carriage slowing, the screams of protest from the horses. The doors rip open - we are pulled out. A loud muttering and chatter, hostile me shake and jar us - hands groping. There are too many of them, even with the guards. Our party is too small.

"What is the meaning of this?" I project my voice over them, keeping my tone firm. The boys are pulled from my arms. Both of their eyes wide with fright.

"These are the sons of that Medici whore," one of them sneers. "They'll get what's coming to them, what's coming to her!"

"They are but boys, innocent children!" I rebuke. "I am Mary, Queen of Scots. I command you to release them back to my care."

"I don't care who you is," he gets up in my face, so close I can smell his rancid breath. "They're ours now. Take them Claude. We'll hold these ones here till you're good and away."

The boys begin to cry as they are dragged away. I know I have to remain calm. We will get them back. I'll never forgive myself if anything else happens to them. They were in my care and I failed them. Minutes pass; it feels like an eternity. More of the ruffians begin to fade back into the brush. Then more. When it is only two the guards jump them, killing them so quickly I don't have time to tell them not to. We could have used them for information. Now it's too late.

"Hurry," I exclaim, quickly climbing back into the carriage. "We must make haste to the chateau to sound the alarm and organize search parties! We can't let them get far."

* * *

We're waiting for word on Charles and Henry. I came inside after feeling a bit nauseated, and Bash came to find me after a bit. I'd left him organizing search parties for the boys.

"When we find them, I think we should begin to look for a place where they can live permanently," he suggests, his tone firm.

"What do you mean?" I feel myself bristle, suspecting where he's going.

"We should find them a place that can care for them..."

"No!" I adamantly reply. "This is the only home they have ever known, the only people they know. You think they will be safer and better cared for by strangers?"

"Yes, I do," he says, trying to take my hand.

"That is not happening. Those boys need our protection," I shoot back, holding myself away from him. "And I promised Catherine I would keep them safe. We should keep them here with us."

"And teach them to be constantly afraid?" He tries to calm me. It's not working. "Always on the lookout for the next attack? I won't have them grow up to fear their own shadows. And we owe Catherine nothing."

"You think sending them away will prevent this?" I sharply return. "I was sent away from here, from everyone I knew, kept in secret. And I still wasn't safe."

"That is different," he tries to soothe.

"How?" I ask. "The only way Charles and Henry will ever be safe if sent away is for them to become someone other than who they are - be completely stripped of their identity - where there will be no one who loves or cares for them. Is that what you want for them? Are they not _your_ brothers? Your family?

"Of course, but..."

"Your Grace," one of Henry's advisors hurries up to us.

"Yes?" I acknowledge with a tip of my head, hoping he will continue.

"There has been no news from the Vatican again," he says. I indicate he should continue, knowing can finish this discussion when the boys are brought safely home. "Our emissaries sent back word that they are receiving the same sort of reception as the king himself."

"Does the Pope know of Catherine's indiscretions?" I question sharply. "That her blood is scheduled to be spilled presently?"

"From the dates on his letters, we can't be certain, but my best guess is no or otherwise he would have included the information," he concedes. "Sooner or later blood is spilled, it's just a matter of whose. Will it be Catherine's? The English? Or…"

"My own," I finish under my breath. "Thank you for this information," I nod as a dismissal. It seems I must begin to think about coming up with a new plan, of leaving once again in search of a new alliance.

"Perhaps no news is better than you think," Bash interrupts my thoughts.

"How can no news be good in any manner?" I can hear a shrillness in my tone. "I am the queen who will give your father the legacy of conquering England. I am the queen who will give the Pope back the flocks of England to tend. And yet, he will not even grant an audience to anyone about this issue. This is not..."

"She has Charles and little Henry," Greer runs up to me dragging Kenna behind. It's mid-afternoon. The boys have been missing for hours now.

"Who?" I ask, though I fear I know.

"That girl, Catherine's monstrous daughter. She took Charles and little Henry!" she exclaims.

"She must have taken them somewhere to be safe. She rescued them," I quickly interject. This could get out of hand quickly, I need to keep everyone calm. "Charles is friends with Clarissa. She would never harm him. Or Henry for that matter."

We move quickly toward the stables, finding a search party gathering to seek out the young princes. I hear phrases like 'rabid dog that needs to be put down,' 'menace,' 'deranged,' 'not in her right mind,' thrown about.

"Would everyone please listen to me before you go," I call out above the growing din. "Clarissa is friends with Charles. She will never harm him. If she found them I am sure she will safely return them to the chateau. Please don't do anything you can't take back against a girl that means no harm."

But no one is really listening to me. They immediately return to making plans. Bash turns to me, grabbing my hand. "Perhaps you could spend this time planning our wedding," he smiles as if nothing is out of sorts.

"There is no wedding to plan. If my original plan falls through then I must seek another alliance, and find shelter and support for my people elsewhere," I reply. Who does he think I am? I'm not some girl sitting about making my trousseau, planning my wedding with nothing else on my mind.

"Don't say that," he responds urgently. "We are to marry."

"No," I say firmly. "I am to marry the next king of France. If that is not you then it is my duty to find an alliance that will serve as a substitute. If you are not legitimized we will not wed, and there has been no news from the Vatican."

"The Vatican will come around," he says, gently, holding my hands, but I can see the panic in his eyes. "And when they do, we can finally be married."

"And if they do not, we won't," I repeat, feeling I should emphasize the tenuousness of this betrothal. My first duty is to my people and country - it's time I remember that.

"Don't say that," he shakes his head. "But I must go help find Charles, Henry and Clarissa."

"Please," I grab his sleeve. "Be kind to her. I know she means no harm." He shakes off my hand and leaves.

* * *

"Your Grace," a guard hurries up to me. I get up from where I have been kneeling, praying for the safety of Clarissa, Charles and Henry. "We just received word that the girl and the young princes have been located, or that they have been located."

"Take me to them," I return, getting up quickly, heading to the door.

"Your Grace," his voice stops me. I can tell there's more he hasn't told me. "They have been tracked to what appears to be a cave in the Blood Wood. It's not safe for you to go there. It's darkening outside."

"I have been in the Blood Wood at night and survived its terrors," I say firmly, holding up my hand to stop him from speaking further. "Those boys need me. The Blood Wood will not keep me from them. Saddle me a horse and find some guards who will go with me to where the boys have been tracked."

He nods and leaves. I go to change into something appropriate for riding.

* * *

It is dark by the time we set off. I encourage as fast a pace as possible, though we're not really able to move very quickly once we get into the wood itself, picking around the trees and brush. There is once again a sense of foreboding in this place, the darkness thicker and harder to see through than anywhere else I've ever been - even though the guards carry torches to light the way. The slightest noise making me jump and startle, hairs raising on the back of my neck - is that just a forest creature or the blood thirsty creatures of a two-legged variety that also reside in this wood?

An hour later I hear the faint, but distinct sound of a child's wail. Every part of my body tenses. "We must go more quickly," I urge.

We try to pick up the pace, but it's too difficult with the horses in the dark, so we dismount. I move as quickly as possible in the direction of the cries, coming to a shallow valley lit with torches. In the center I see a crumpled body. Charles and Henry stand off to the side clinging to one another.

I break into a run, realizing the body is covered by a roughly spun dress -, stumbling, scraping my hands, I get up and pushing forward. As I get closer I can see a dark stain on the dress and my heart clenches further. My eyes dart to find the source of the stain, settling on an unsheathed sword - in Bash's hand.

I hurry to the boys, grabbing them, checking them for wounds and scrapes before pulling them into my arms and thanking God for their safety.

"Clarissa," Charles blubbers after several moments.

I look up - the body is hers. All that runs through my mind is how she'd helped and protected me since my return. The wine, Simon, Catherine, Francis and the boys. She's been my friend and protector, and now she's gone. I've been strong till now - finding the boys my single focus and priority - but focusing on her lifeless body, one deformed since birth, I feel tears begin to run down my face. I move to hold her with a choking sob.

Tears stream down my face as I cradle Clarissa's lifeless body, holding Charles's hand in mine as he joins my sobs. Blood covers me, still gurgling out of the horrible wound across her chest.

"Why would no one listen to me?" I finally get out through my constricted throat. "She was my friend, and Charles's, she would have never hurt either Charles or Henry. She loved and protected all of us. She wasn't some animal to be put down!"

"Mary," Bash puts a hand under my arm, trying to lift me up.

"No!" I exclaim sharply, shrugging him off, unable to see past his blood-soaked blade. He said he would protect me from anyone who sought to do me harm, but what of those that seek to protect me? Perhaps even from him? "Everyone wanted to play the hero, except no hero was needed. She was the hero. No one listened. No one cared. And now an innocent girl. My _friend_. Is dead. And for what? Because she found Henry and Charles? They were her friends. Please leave us, and send for a wain to take her body back to the chateau or make some sort of a sled. If nothing else, she deserves a proper burial."

* * *

"Prince Francis has returned," I hear servants murmur under their breath. I don't think they intended me to hear it, but my ears hear his name right away. I urge my maid to hasten. I want to see him. I need to see him. To know he's alright, thriving. That perhaps he's forgiven me.

Someone deserves some happiness out of this mess. It won't be me; I pray it is him.

I rush into the corridor just in time to see him walking down the corridor - with Lola. I stop abruptly, the breath rushing out of my body. Why is he with her? "Fran..." I breathe, my hand reaching out to him.

He doesn't stop; he barely even looks at me. He just keeps walking, turning to headaway from me. I feel tears spring up in my eyes. He's here, unkempt and haggard looking. Hair too long, beard unkempt, eyes shot red. Not at all himself. And he didn't even acknowledge me.

My forward momentum ends, right there. Immediately. I feel like a boat who suddenly lost the wind. Just bobbing in place, not knowing where to go or how to recover.

I'm there for several minutes, just looking at the empty space where he walked past me, never acknowledging I was even here. I startle when I feel a hand on my arm.

"I was told Francis has returned," Bash says, his hand curling around my arm.

"He has," I nod, struggling to keep my voice even.

"While it's a good thing he's turned up so everyone will know he's alright, he doesn't matter to us, Mary," he replies. "We are the ones betrothed now, who will marry."

"Whatever happens between us," I reply, shaking off his hand. "Whatever the future holds, he will always matter to me - he will always be important. We're betrothed because I loved him too much to let him die. That has not changed," I finish, turning to go back to my rooms. Bash does not seem to understand that I will not be marrying him if the legitimization falls through with the Pope - hat if I'm not marrying the future King of France then I must find another alliance and husband to defend my people. I shut the doors, my body falling backward, my head banging into the solid door. Tears spill out the sides of my eyes.

He looked through me. As if he didn't even see me. As if I didn't even matter.

Even in the days when he was trying not to love me, he was never indifferent. I'm not sure which hurts more, indifference or avoidance.

No, I know. Indifference hurts more. At least, before, I knew I mattered.

* * *

"How is he?" I ask Lola. "You returned with him, tell me true." Seeing her beside him was startling. And then the way he could barely even look at me, his gaze just flitting by me as if I didn't matter.

"Don't you know?" Lola replies.

"What do you mean?" I respond, my stomach clenching. I nibble bread, hoping to stave off the nausea that has plagued me the last few days.

"He's not fine; he's angry, a bit hopeless," she says. "It's not as if you just left him - you took away his crown and threw him over for his brother, all in a matter of hours."

"I didn't..." I begin.

"Don't, Mary," Lola holds up her hand. "I know your reasons. You asked about him. And he's devastated and feels betrayed. Even more so by the fact that it was done by the person he loves and trusted most."

I don't say anything - I can't. My heart clenches at Lola's mention of his love for me, but then my brain registers that it's now all wrapped up in his perception of my betrayal of him. My body collapses in on itself, my corset the only thing holding me up.

"What exactly did you expect Mary?" Greer questions after a few moments of silence.

"What do you mean?" I return.

"He has spent his entire life preparing for one thing - to be the king of France - and he dutifully followed all the rules," she ticks off. "When you came back here he even fell in love with you, against his own better judgement. And in one day the woman he loved took everything that gave his life meaning, purpose and happiness away from him, leaving him with nothing. Exactly how did you expect him to react? To thank you?"

"I did it to save his life!" I exclaim.

"Keep telling yourself that," Greer waves me off. "Because no one else believes that. You think leaving him a shell of a life is saving him? You're killing him, just in a different way."

"You did it because you can't face the idea of losing him," Lola interjects softly. "Never thinking what losing you and everything he cares about would do to him."

"But, I didn't have a choice..." I trail off.

"As I said, keep telling yourself that if it helps you," Greer continues, her tone sharp. "But eventually you're going to have to stop lying to yourself. You chose. You chose to not have a chance at an incredibly happy life, even if only for a short time. How many people in your position have what you and Francis had before you tossed it aside? Nobles even? The numbers are incredibly small. And he always took his duties seriously, unlike Bash. They drove him, gave him purpose. What is he supposed to do that now?"

"He has trained in smithery," I say, realizing how ridiculous that sounds to my own ears, how ridiculous it must sound to my friends.

"Francis de Valois? A blacksmith?" Lola laughs, sarcasm heavy in her voice and laugh. "You really think he will be happy as a smithy? Really?" she starts to cackle, whipping tears from her eyes. "Honestly, Mary, if you've convinced yourself of that, you've lost your mind.

"You're my friend, and my queen," she continues, her tone softening. "I'm still on your side in this, but you have to realize there's more to life than cheating death. People need reasons to live, to get up every morning. For Francis that was duty, honor, love - France, her people and you. You took all that from him. You took who he was from him. No, Mary, he's not great, he's not even good. I don't think he will be for a very long time, if ever. He's alive but he's not living."

* * *

"Your Grace," my guard addresses as he enters. I nod for him to continue. "The Vatican has sent an emissary. He will be in the throne room shortly."

"Thank you," I wave for him to leave. It is strange, to send an emissary now. Perhaps things have changed once more. Perhaps the Pope has finally changed his mind. The last time the Vatican sent an emissary was one of the happiest days of my life. Francis and I had everything in the world to look forward to: a life filled with love, laughter, friendship and family along with our pledges to one another to always share our burdens, duties and struggles. I don't have any of that now. Just a betrothal I have to make work, even if it isn't what I truly want. But then nothing that isn't Francis will ever be what I truly desire.

I get up, and check my hair and dress before leaving my rooms. It still feels a bit tight and uncomfortable, as if I have gained a bit of weight. Bash meets me as I gain the stairs, offering me his arm. I hesitate before threading my hand into his elbow. It's starting to feel familiar but still so wrong. The wrong arm, the wrong man. But I chose this path myself, I've finally had to accept that. The road that has brought me here, on the verge of marrying a man I am now certain will not be a good ruler and who I can't seem to bring myself to truly love - it was of my own choosing.

I left the right man - the one who would make an excellent ruler, the one I loved without hesitation - to not just spare his life, but to spare my grief. Greer and Lola are right. I must accept that. As I enter the throne room I'm just beginning to realize how much destruction I have left in my wake. I have denied France a great king; denied her people someone who cares about them - loves them; I have denied my home and people - Scotland - his wise counsel; I've denied myself the one man I know I will love deep in my soul for the rest of my life without hesitation.

Unlike the last Vatican visit, Henry summons Bash and me to the throne platform. Catherine sits at its foot, awaiting judgement. As the room fills, Henry calls everyone to attention.

"Today is a great day for Scotland, for the Church, and for France," he says. "Today we gather to stand judgement against those amongst us who have sinned and to raise up one who shall lead us into a brighter morrow. Today is a new beginning for the House of Valois, a new beginn..." He trails off as boot treads ring out in the quiet hall.

Everyone turns, trying to see who it is. My view is blocked by the crowd. Murmurs turn to indistinct chatter as the boot treads come closer. Henry's face has become a mask, giving nothing away. I can feel Bash tense next to me.

Then I see him - Francis. With him, Charles and little Henry. He looks magnificent, every inch the Dauphin of France he was born to be. His hair cut, his beard trimmed, posture erect, wearing an embroidered black coat, buttoned and belted with a buckle of gold, black breeches and knee-high boots - he's never needed to wear embellished clothing or rich jewels to command respect. Somehow he just embodies exactly who a king should be, making noble and peasant alike flock to his banner.

He walks to his mother, kissing her on the cheek, murmuring something in her ear. He takes her hand, escorting her to the queen's throne, settling his brothers at her feet.

"You were saying Father?" he finally speaks, returning to the chair Catherine had been sitting in, moving it off to the side.

"What are you doing Francis?" Henry questions sharply. "This is not the time for theatrics. The Vatican is here."

"Yes, the Vatican is here, as you requested. Were you not going to let your youngest sons know your plans for their mother? I felt the entire family should be on hand," Francis smiles, turning toward the platform. His smile is not warm, more like the smile of a hunter as it spots an easy prey - baring its teeth in warning. "I don't wish to waste anyone's time, so we should get on with it. We do have some very distinguished guests here today, Father. Yes, we do. His Excellency Jose-Miguel Jimenez e Cordoba, Ambassador of Spain is in attendance, I believe. Your Excellency?" he asks, looking around. "Ah, there you are," he smiles again. "Do you have something for me?"

"Of course, Your Grace," the ambassador bows before Francis, handing him several sealed sets of papers.

"Thank you," Francis nods. "Father, this is a letter from your good-son, the King of Spain, Philip II. He is very concerned about the possibility that his loving wife should be made a bastard by the specious charges against his good-mother. As such, he has pledged to make war on France if anything were to happen to make his wife anything less than legitimate in the eyes of the Church. He sent letters in triplicate - one for myself as a record, one for you Father, of course, and one for you, Mary, my love," he tells the room in a light conversational tone. As if he were requesting a beverage from a servant or asking for the time of day and not threatening war from the most powerful monarch in all of Europe. "Philip and I felt it only polite to include copies for each of his fellow rulers."

I'd dropped my arm from Bash's when I saw Francis, letting my arms hang at my sides. With his announcement that Spain would declare open war upon France if mine and Henry's plans went though, I clasp my hands tightly together in front of me. I fight to keep my roiling stomach from betraying me. My eyes follow Francis as a moth to a flame. He turns back to the audience. It's clear he's not done.

"Also in attendance is my uncle, Cosimo de' Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany. Uncle?" he asks, looking around once more. "Ah, there you are," he says to a tall man in an elaborate hat. "I believe you have something for me as well," he extends his hand and another batch of papers is given to him. "My uncle has the sworn support of fourteen Italian principalities..."

"My nephew," the Grand Duke interrupts, causing Francis to turn and acknowledge him once more. "I have the good fortune of offering the support of sixteen Italian principalities and duchies to defend the name and honor of my niece Catherine de Medici, the rightful and consecrated Queen of France. Should anything happen to her or her children, my nephews and nieces, we shall have no choice but to make war upon France in concert with Spain. The Medici name and honor are at stake, as well as our legacy."

Francis inclines his head, smiling, walking up to the platform, and hands a copy of the papers from King Philip and the Grand Duke to his mother asking her to keep them for him. Then he turns to Henry who looks strangely proud, and hands him his copies before coming to me and handing me mine. My hands are still clasped; he gently pries them apart, a long finger stroking the inside of my wrist; I feel a tightness and fluttering in my belly, something familiar - desire. For him. His scent takes over my senses, making me sway towards him. I forget the room filled with courtiers; everything in my being is focused on him, where his hand touches mine. As if someone has lit a tinder under parched kindling, my body flames at his nearness. My legs clench, my breasts flower. Seeing him again was enough to shake my perspective. Now I just feel the draw and pull to be near him, to bask in his radiance. I suppose I know what Henry is feeling. Francis is refusing to go quietly - he's making the price of his birthright extremely high. His fight makes me desire him more - differently - than I ever have before. He is a Phoenix rising from the ashes renewed, restored, and more glorious than ever. How is a mere woman - even is she is a queen - supposed to resist what he has become in this moment?

"You see, father, this is duty, as you have tried to teach it to me," he says, letting go of my hand, a small smile pulling at his mouth. His middle finger had rested on my pulse, where he can feel my heart racing. He leaves the platform to go back to the main floor. "Though you generally disregard it to suit your own desires. I know my half-brother has no sense of duty. But I do. It is my duty as the one born to the rank of Dauphin of France to ensure my people have the best leader when you die. Perhaps that is not me, perhaps it is Charles or Henry," he gestures to his brothers, but speaks directly to Henry. "But I know for certain it is not our half-brother, who has no loyalties outside of himself and his own desires," his eyes settle on me, his smile pulling slightly once more. "I have not been back a full day and my ears burn with tales of the King's Justice being applied capriciously. Peasants and common folk who have left their homes and meager existences and have traveled great distances to come before the king's regent only to be mocked. Is this how a king behaves toward his subjects? You and I might have differing outlooks, Father, but we do both agree as to the seriousness of the office to which our birth gave us rights.

"We both know that we serve in the name of the Holy Catholic Church and by right of God Himself," he continues. "We both know it is not for we earthly beings to question God, for those that do tend to have the fate of Icarus befall them. They fly too close to the sun, only to crash and die."

He paces back and forth, as if a radiant lion stalking his prey, holding the entire room in his thrall. In this moment, he is truly becoming the king he was born to be. That thing that always pulls me toward him, and holds me in his orbit - I feel it inside me. It grows. It feels as if no one else exists in the world. I know he's beating me. I know my plans are turning to ash before me. And yet, I also feel so incredibly proud of him - He is a king his country can rely upon, who his subjects can proudly call theirs. Who am I to deny them that? I am only a queen.

"As such, it is only fitting that God's own representative be present. I was told this morning that my cousin, His Eminance Giovanni Cardinal Medici is to be in attendance today," he looks around for the red cap, finding him next to his uncle. "My cousin is not from the Florentine branch of the family, as my mother and uncle are, but from further north, in Milan. But he also has news for us all. Cousin, if you will," he gestures for his cousin to speak.

"The Holy Roman Church has blessed the House of Valois," the cardinal begins. "And given it earthly dominion over France, but our blessed earthy Father, Pope Paul IV, Bishop of Rome, feels it is God's own will that this blessing be removed if its legitimate and consecrated heirs are removed. It is not the Will of a God, nor His Church. The Holy Father is also greatly concerned about the rumors of paganism being tolerated and allowed to flourish right here in this chateau. This cannot be overlooked, nor can it be tolerated. As such, the Papal States have pledged their support to the Grand Duke of Tuscany in his efforts to maintain the recognized line of the House of Valois. There shall be no removing my cousin Catherine de Medici from her place as the recognized and consecrated Queen of France. And young Francis is the recognized Dauphin of France, the only one blessed by the Holy Father. If something were to happen to him, that is what you have more sons for, Your Grace - you have three. There will be no legitimization of a bastard born without cause, for which there is none. And if the recognized sons of the House of Valois are to suddenly fall ill and die, papal support and recognition will be withdrawn from France."

"Thank you, Your Eminence," Francis steps forward again. They incline their heads toward one another in respect.

"As you see, Father, Mary, the news is no different from yesterday, the day prior, or when you went to Rome. If you want England - well Father, I know you do - you will have to make your claim with me as your heir," he elaborates, handing each of us the final set of papers with the elaborate Papal seal before returning to the main floor.

"How..." Bash begins before realizing he shouldn't have spoken.

"How did I what, brother?" he whips around, "How did I manage to deprive you of not only the things you don't want, and which I am duty-bound to defend, but the one thing of mine I knew you coveted?" Francis asks with a cold smile, turning his full attention toward Bash and letting out a harsh laugh before continuing. "I remembered a few things, that is how. First, a lesson I learned not long ago about how bastards take - a country, a life, a woman. I knew what you truly wanted, my love and my joy. That you would take the rest to have her, I also realized. The second was that while you have always been good at following orders - Father told you to take my place; Mary offered it to you; so you did - I have been raised and groomed to give them. I don't merely react; I set things in motion to my own will. The third was that you think me weak because I play by the rules, forgetting that I make those rules. You see, I never surrendered my seal of state. So while you were pretending to be me, I could write Rome, my uncle and my good brother with the full authority of the station to which I was born. As the true Dauphin of France.

"How did I do this?" he pauses, smiling widely with a cold arrogance, looking directly at Bash. "Because I was raised, groomed and taught to be the person I am - The next King of France."

He saunters to the platform, Henry having long ago sat on his throne, walking straight to me. He picks up my hand, kissing the back - his finger again finds my racing pulse, bringing another smile to his face.

"No one has yet asked the most pertinent question," he says, keeping hold of my hand, rubbing his thumb into the palm gently. "If I was able to send letters to Rome, Florence and Spain, where did I go? Where have I been? Does anyone venture a guess? Father? Mother? Mary?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure you will take great pleasure in sharing with all of us," Henry drawls, a strange smile on his face.

Francis laughs with a nod. "You are correct, Father; I will enjoy telling where I have been. I did enjoy one bit of my freedom - the ability to go places without question. I have seen sea-faring ships, of course, but had never been on one till now. Where I went is a beautiful place, of gently rolling hills, heather-covered moors, beautiful game, thistle, crystalline glacier lakes, a proud and generous people and soulful music. Your homeland, my love, is spectacular."

My heart beats faster as he ticks off the qualities of the places he had seen in his travels, the descriptions feeling familiar but distant. I feel the breath leave my body as he says 'your homeland;' I feel light-headed; my body sways a bit. I feel his arm come around my waist, holding me steady.

A woman enters the throne room, sweeping toward the platform - her frame erect, purposeful. She looks familiar, as if out of a dream or memory. "Mother?" I breathe.

"Check and mate, my darling," he whispers into my ear.

TBC

**Endnotes**:

1) First and foremost much thanks to my betas and helpmeets, **justcallmesmitty** & **poligirl25**. **Justcallmesmitty** in particular has been so amazing through the writing of this chapter, which at 7300+ words is more than twice the length of any of the other chapters. xoxoxoxo Love y'all to bits!  
2) Unlike all the other chapters this one covers more than one episode. It is 12 and part of 13, which is part of the reason for the length. But I've known all along this is where I wanted this chapter to end, which made it necessary to push it into ep 13. The ep 13 stuff is pure spec on my part, not really spoilers.  
3) The terms good-son, good-mother, etc., predate in-laws, but have the same meaning.  
4) Thank you to the CW promotions department for releasing the 1x12 Producers Preview so early. I honestly didn't know what this episode was about outside of something to do with Clarissa having Charles and little Henry at some point. The PP made clear that this episode would be a continuation of the mother theme that has surrounded Mary all through the BoP, this time with "Francis' brothers" to quote Laurie McCarthy. It made me delete a lot of stuff, and redo the 12 parts. This is a girl deciding to step in and be a mother to motherless children of the man she loves, but can't be with - Francis, she herself being a motherless child. All of this solidified my belief that Francis is actually in Scotland and will be the instigator of Marie de Guise appearance in ep 13, because it completes that circle.  
5) I was surprised last episode with how stark they took the Henry/Bash parallels last episode, something I'd picked up long ago. AvS is wonderful as Henry, but Henry is a fairly awful person. I tried to accommodate where I could, but I've also tried to stay true to what I had previously assumed. As for the rest, I was surprised how far they went to put Bash in what I perceive to be a negative light in the last ep. I assumed he would go darker after the BoP is over, but they seem to be putting him on that path now. And just general negativity, emotional blackmail, "claiming," etc. Strangely, I feel I've been too kind to him.  
6) When I decided to tackle my BoP spec in fic form there were two scenes I wanted to write, you've now read both. The dungeon scene, I went more emotionally harsh than the show. And then the last one here. We'll see where I landed in a couple of weeks! *g*  
7) Finally, thank you to my readers for letting me have a break and not complaining about it. I feel so refreshed and this chapter was definitely better for it.

Reviews & comments are always greatly appreciated.


	6. Queen, black

**AN** - I'm playing with a bit of continuity here to try to get this chapter as close as I think I can get it. Not much but I think it will be obvious where I've done this.

**Queen, black**

My mother walks stiffly erect down the throne room, before falling into a deep curtsey before Henry.

"I may be regent of Scotland, but I shall always be French," she say in greeting as she stands. "Time is urgent, however. I bring with me news of the death of the English queen. England prepares to coronate the bastard Elizabeth as its next queen."

There is immediate chatter throughout the hall. Henry stands, holding up his hand, asking for silence. "I think the time for theatrics is over. We shall retire to my study. Francis, your allies are also welcome," he finishes, sweeping out of the throne room.

If the English queen is dead, then I must make my claim to the throne. Now. The only things holding me up are Francis's arms around me. I must claim the English crown and with it perhaps seal my own death. I've sought to remove Catherine's head from her shoulder so assiduously these last weeks, to the point where I don't even recognize myself when I look in the silvered glass anymore. There's a brittleness, a sharpness. Am I trying to kill Catherine partly to remove the reminder of who I'm becoming? Who I'm becoming to survive these games is so far from the person I wished myself to be.

I don't want the English crown. Only Francis ever really understood that. Bash said he didn't care about the claim, just me, but he doesn't truly care about France, her people or my people either. Francis understood how risky this endeavor might be, that I could lose my head over it - that it could even be the end of an independent Scotland. I'm not truly made for these games of crowns and thrones. All I've ever wanted was to bring peace to Scotland and with that help my people find a prosperous future.

"Take your hands off my betrothed," I hear Bash say in a clipped voice, bringing me out of my haze.

"Oh, brother," Francis laughs mockingly. "How is it you grew up here and yet have no grasp of games of court? Many things are unsure at this moment, but the dissolution of your betrothal is not one of them. Father is greedy and power-hungry, not stupid. He wants the English crown, not to lose his own, or his head. Are you alright?" he finishes, turning his attention to me, his tone softening.

"She's dead, so I have to..." I trail off, unable to finish, fear beginning to grip my heart.

"Make your claim, as you've now promised your mother and my father," Francis finishes for me. "This is quite the bind you've gotten yourself in, is it not? To go from deciding this together to having to make the claim because you were so desperate to save my life in your mind. It might be romantic if it weren't so absurd and sad. To think you would try to claim the English throne with my brother at your side, who has never spent a serious or contemplative moment in his life. Who acts rashly without thinking; who knows nothing, nor does he care to know anything about being a king."

I look down at the floor, knowing he's right.

"We need to go to my father's study, they're expecting us," he continues softly, touching my elbow. "You should probably come as well," he continues, turning to Bash. "If only to have confirmed what I've told you already." He cups my elbow, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him.

I walk as if in a trance. I haven't seen my mother since I was a little girl, she looks so different. I suppose that is to be expected. Why is she here?

I don't even realize I've moved from the throne room to Henry's study till I'm surrounded by buzzing noise, the room packed with people talking to and over one another. My mother walks to me with a small smile on her face. "I'm here now my dear, all of this shall be sorted," she says taking my hands.

I pull a small smile, then Henry claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "If the Tudor queen has died, and England prepares to coronate a bastard, then your time has come to make your claim, Mary. It would seem that since the Vatican will not legitimize Bash, it would do you well to take advantage of Francis's return and marry him. He is - as he so eloquently displayed for us all - still the Dauphin of France, so the alliance will remain intact and also make the Vatican happy."

"Father," Francis speaks up. "You have not indicated your plans for Mother."

Henry turns to look at his son and heir, staring hard at him. "I think you know the answer to that. You come back threatening all-out war against your homeland."

"I would like to state for the record I did not threaten war," Francis interjects. "I just informed interested parties of your plans. Any decisions of war making was theirs and theirs alone. You angered the wrong people, Father."

"Be that as it may," Henry continues. "If war from all sides in the price of your mother's head, then it shall remain attached to her shoulders. Mary, you need to decide what you will do, and quickly."

"I would speak to my mother and seek her counsel before I make any decisions," I reply.

* * *

We walk back to my rooms together in silence. I don't really know what to say to her. She's mother, but her hand and script have become her voice. We sit together on the chaise, I fold my hands in my lap, and wait.

"French court has gone to hell," she states. "But I'm here now, dear. Things have really turned upside-down since you decided to break your betrothal to young Francis. I wish you had spoken to one of your uncles before doing something so rash. Turning the French line of succession into chaos and for what? A seer's vision that may never come true? Will you tell me what you were thinking?"

Her tone makes me hesitate. Somehow the totality of what I did seems very real to me. Francis being back, the threats of war, the claim to the English throne I've agreed to make - all of it set in motion by my desire to save Francis. I begin, going through all the events, my decisions; telling her of Aylee's death, my running away, being drug back and the decisions I made. She gets up to hold me at one point, as tears begin to fall. It should feel comforting, and on some level it does, but her touch is unfamiliar, her scent different. I throw that aside for the moment, reveling in the touch and embrace of my mother.

"So you trusted a mystic to decide to leave Francis and seek a new alliance? A mystic?" she asks sharply. "Then you threw the fates of France and Scotland - your people - to a bastard who was not educated or tutored to rule. How is this at all rational?"

"I was told I would cause Francis's death," I start, my choice thready.

"How is that up to you?" she interjects. "This is an alliance, not a love match. Francis's life belongs to France, not you."

"I love Francis," I defend. "I can't cause his death. I couldn't live with myself."

"Then you should have married young Charles," she says, not even acknowledging what I've said. "It would have kept the line intact, the line of succession would not be questioned, and you would have kept Francis's support when he became king."

"I thought I should marry someone who could become a strong leader right away," I return meekly.

"An ill-educated bastard is your idea of a strong leader?" she mocks. "My dear, you are a queen. You've been raised to make clear-headed and rational decisions, and I see none here. Marrying someone not ready nor fit to rule would cause more strife. Raising a bastard up - especially unnecessarily - invites unrest and strife. Countries divide into factions, each taking sides. When I was traveling there was much mumbling and grousing about the Medici bitch queen. This strife is directly attributable to destabilizing the royal line. Who are the people to be loyal to? Countries have descended into never ending fratricidal civil wars over less.

"Did they forget to teach you your own family history here?" she keeps going. "The wars between the Lancasters and Yorks. That is where your English claim originates, after all. Two families with competing claims, everyone takes sides and war goes on through more than one lifetime. _That_ is what you are inviting on France. Because there are plenty of people who want rid of the Medici influence, but there are equally as many who will never accept a legitimized bastard as king - _especially_ when there are trueborn heirs still alive. And what of _that_? Your Sebastian would do well to get rid of those competing claims, the Princes in the Tower coming to mind. He will kill your Francis the first chance he gets, and guess what my dear, you would still be responsible! In raising him up you've given him hopes of things he never dreamed of, things to which Francis is now a threat. A very grave threat. And you wish to claim a throne from a bastard with another bastard at your side? That is not logical, my dear."

It feels as though she has slapped me against the face or thrown icy water on me. I never thought about or considered any of these things. Saving Francis's life was all I cared about.

"You only have to look into the glass to know who is and would be responsible for this," she continues, making me flinch. "These are the decisions of a foolish girl, not a queen. I have spent the last sixteen years since your father's death ruling for you, protecting Scotland from England's ambitions, and you open us up to these horrible vulnerabilities by upending an alliance that has been in place for a decade."

"I..." I try to begin, but she cuts me off, not yet finished.

"No," she holds up her hand. "I need to wash off the dust from the road and change out of these traveling clothes, but I want you to think about what I have to say. Our borders are constantly being raided by the English. With this bastard rising to their throne it will get worse, not better, as she knows you have the better claim and the backing of Rome. You will marry Francis, as the original alliance agreed, or you will come home. Your country and people await and need you. There will be no more talk of prophecies or mysticism. That is for fools and the uneducated, not queens."

She gets up, brushing down her skirts, turning for the door. "No, not queens at all. I think I shall have a word with Catherine after I wash."

* * *

My head is spinning. So much happened in such a short amount of time. Francis returning, my mother arriving, the death of the Tudor queen, the need to make my claim. I come out onto the balcony attached to my rooms to clear my head - to try to think. Hopefully the crisp, cold air will help me in this. The world looks peaceful, but my mind and heart are troubled.

Seeing Francis again - being near him - I thought I was moving on, putting him and our love in the past, but I must now admit to myself that is not the case. I love him still. I probably always will. But I still cannot wed him. I cannot cause his death. Even if the person I'm truly saving is myself - my pain, my grief at his death. Perhaps that is a selfish choice, but it's the only one that feels comfortable to me.

But what my mother said also rings true and brings to mind something Francis once said to me, that a great leader must lead, "_with a clear head and compassion_." Have I had a clear head since the moment Aylee was killed? I know I have not. I've been in fear, heartbroken - running as fast and as far from both those things as I can.

I need to marry, and immediately, if I am going to stake a claim to England. Scotland is too weak to do this alone. I need a strong alliance backing me or none of this will work, and the only one available to me is France. I don't have the time to go find a new one anymore. My mother suggested going home - perhaps that is an option after all.

I'm still sitting staring into the distance when Bash joins me. I can tell it's him without even moving my head. The boot treads are soft, but heavy at the same time. He crouches down in front of me.

"Mary, we can still wed," Bash implores, holding my hands in his. "Take the beheading off the table, Catherine lives. Our plan was to wait for Rome. Why not instead call their bluff? Our reasons for becoming betrothed in the first place were to save Francis. The prophecy still exists. If we want to save his life, you cannot marry him. Francis's life - it is too precious to us both to risk. If we marry today..."

"Today?" I shoot back, shaking my head trying to clear the fog from my mind.

"While you were speaking with your mother I rode to that small chapel by the lake," he continues. "I spoke to the priest, and he told me that since we have already announced our betrothal, we can marry at any time. The usual waiting periods do not apply to us. We can keep to our plan and everything else will remain the same. You will make your claim and I will be legitimized. Because we both know Rome isn't going to leave the husband of the Queen of Scotland a bastard. Father can still declare me his heir. Mary, we can do this," he says emphatically, squeezing my hands. "And still save Francis."

I think for a few moments. It's impulsive and reckless - just like Bash - but it has merit. There's a plan in there which could work. The Pope still wants England. I cannot do anything that will harm Francis. No matter the logic of my mother's words, I've come too far and hurt him too much already. I began this path to save his life, and that is still my first priority. It might not be the decision of a queen - perhaps it's just the decision of a heartbroken girl - but I've never been willing to look his death in the face and not care. I look up, seeing the sincerity and what I know is love for me in Bash's eyes. I nod, throwing my fate to the winds.

* * *

I see two men fighting and grappling as the carriage pulls up, on brown head one golden - Bash and Francis. My hand goes to my throat, it's like a repeat of the scene from the dungeons. As soon as the carriage stops, I shoot out toward them.

"Stop this!" I yell. Francis, distracted by my voice turns toward me. I see his head snap back as Bash's fist connects with his nose, blood flying. Francis stumbles back, straightening and lunging after Bash. "Stop!" I yell again, lifting up my skirts and running toward them. My presence catches Francis's eye again and Bash lands a heavy blow to his cheek, sending him flying into a gravestone.

"Francis!" I cry out, running over to him, checking him for damage. His nose is dripping blood, though it doesn't look broken. I pull my kerchief from my sleeve and try to stem the flow. "Why were you fighting? What are you doing here, Francis?"

It takes a few moments, but then Francis looks at his brother, "Tell her!" he spits at Bash, anger still raging in his eyes. Bash says nothing - just looks away. "Are you too much of a coward to tell her? Too afraid if she's given a real choice she won't choose you?"

"What do you mean?" I interject. Francis isn't making sense.

Francis's chest is heaving, he draws a deep breath then looks at me, his mask of anger softening. "What I want him to tell you is that Nostradamus has had a new vision, or has at the least revised the one that began all this madness."

"What do you mean?" I question sharply, looking between the two of them. Bash still won't look at me. My heart clinches and begins to race; the hairs on my body stand on end.

He waits a few moments, then begins. "With the death of Clarissa, my mother's firstborn is dead, and not at your hand. It can, however, be looked at that your decision to believe in the first place was the catalyst that set her death in motion. He still sees me dying fairly young, but not with you as any sort of responsible party."

The hairs already standing on end are joined by tingles all over my body. "What did you say?" I whisper.

"You heard me," he nods.

"I don't understand," I say after a few minutes. "When did this happen?"

"This morning,"he replies. "While we were all in the throne room."

I can't breathe. My head is spinning and I feel light-headed. What could this mean? After all I have done to prevent Nostradamus's prophecy from coming true, Francis now tells me it was all for naught. All the pain, all the heartbreak, all the betrayals - they might have been for nothing.

"Mary?" I hear as if from a distance, a hand on my back.

"Hmmm?" I hum, turning my head toward the voice.

"Are you alright?' Francis asks.

"Why did you think Bash knew this?" falls out of my mouth, focusing on the other important thing he's trying to tell me, along with the new prophecy information my brain is trying to process.

"Because when I went to see Nostradamus to confirm this before trying to find you, a servant told me that he had seen Bash skulking about the infirmary just prior, trying to hear a conversation between the seer and my mother."

I look over at Bash, but he doesn't look at us. I feel the sting of betrayal already - he knew. That is the only explanation for his behavior. He knew and tried to get me to marry him before I knew how much things had changed.

"I don't believe in the prophecy any more today than I did when you told me the first time," Francis breaks into my thoughts. "But you did. And I think you deserve to knows things have changed before you make a decision you can't take back or reverse."

I nod, his words sinking in.

"I didn't come here to win you back, but I think you know how I feel," he continues, finger under my chin and pulling my attention to him. "I also think you deserve to make your choice as to whom you marry from a place of knowledge and reason, led by your mind and your heart. But the choice is yours and I will accept that, as I've now done twice. Letting you go has been the hardest thing I've ever done, but I respect and love you enough to let you decide what is right for you and for Scotland. I've told you before - you're a true queen - and you are. You'll always be mine. I just felt you should have all the facts and know you have a real choice that doesn't involve fear or death."

He gets up, dusting himself off, holding out a hand to help me up.

"Also, know that if you choose me - us - that I plan to honor those promises I made the last morning we were together before you left," he continues, cupping my face in his large hands. "I'll always stand by your side, help with your burdens, your struggles, your responsibilities. They will be ours and we'll make those decisions together. I still believe in us, in we and our."

He leans down, kissing my cheek. "I love you," he breathes into my ear, and then he turns to leave, getting on his horse and riding away.

"What did he mean, your last morning together?" Bash questions sharply, drawing me out of watching Francis as he disappears round the bend. He must have excellent hearing, as Francis hadn't spoken loudly. I ignore him, moving toward the carriage. "Mary!" he calls.

I turn to look at him all dirty and stained, not looking at all like a groom should. "Did you know?" he says nothing, just looks at the ground. I have my answer. "I need to return to the chateau," I tell the driver climbing in. I must speak to Nostradamus and Catherine.

* * *

I arrive back at the chateau, hurrying out of the carriage. I hear my heels clicking on the stone floor. It's already darkening by the time we return. I'm making my way down the main corridor when I nearly run into Henry, my mother and my Ladies.

"Where have you been?" my mother asks.

"I needed some time to think, reflect and pray. I went to the chapel at the lakeside," I deflect. "A good deal has happened today. I thought I could use some guidance."

"You realize time is a premium now," Henry says. "With the English queen dead, you must wed and you must make your claim immediately. You will wed one of my sons tonight."

"I will not be bullied by you. I will take my life in my own hands," I shoot back, thinking of Francis's words and drawing strength. "I am the Queen of Scotland, and the claim is mine and mine alone. Not yours. These decisions will be made in my time and when I am ready. I am the queen who will give you England, but you won't get England without me."

I walk away, head high. I hear steps behind me, and know it is my mother. I can feel her fury boring a hole in my back.

"I know you didn't go to pray or ask guidance - you were going to marry your bastard behind my and everyone's back," my mother shoots at me as soon as we enter my room. "Are you married?"

"No," I admit, plopping on the settee.

"Let's get you out of that dirty dress," she says, holding out her hand to me. "You can tell me what happened."

I take her hand, standing and turning around. She unlaces my dress, allowing me to breathe more easily. Though I still have on my corset, the dress is unusually tight. Her hand runs across my breast as she helps pull the dress off my body and I flinch away in pain.

"Do you want me to call for you a bath?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "Just hot water to wash off the dirt. And I'll need to brush out my hair. My head feels scratchy from the dust."

"Sit," she points to my dressing table after instructing a maid to bring hot water, handing me a dressing gown to ward off the chill of the room.

I do as she says, sitting. She stands behind me, her hands finding the pins that hold my hair back. Her eyes meet mine in the silvered glass. Her eyes bore into mine, I feel her anger and judgement - her disappointment.

"How did..." I begin.

"How did I know you were actually planning to wed, rather than going to pray?" she inquires, a brow raised. "I spoke with your maids. They didn't tell me straight out, but I find if you ask the right questions you find the answers you seek. I have found out quite a lot already."

"Such as what?" I'm almost afraid to ask.

"Well, why you'd left to begin with," she starts. "Given that you didn't come back with a bridegroom, I'll be relieved and assume the wedding didn't go through."

"No," I shake my head. "Something happened."

"Francis?" she questions.

"Yes," I nod. "He had information he thought I should know and weigh before actually marrying Bash."

"I should ask, but I won't," she replies, making me relax a bit. I don't want to tell her of another prophecy, not when she mocked my belief in the first one. "I trust if it came from young Francis it was good information and perhaps something you should think on. He has a good mind. I've been impressed by him these last few weeks. I can't say the same for this Sebastian, however. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was his idea to suddenly marry. May I ask why?"

"To try to force Rome's hand," I say, my voice small.

"Mary," she sighs, rubbing my shoulders. "My child, I can't tell you how much this disappoints me to see you flailing from one silly scheme to the next. Perhaps I was wrong in sending you here. The frivolities of French court life make you forget the dire situation we face every day at home. Perhaps I should have only sent here when it was time to wed. Perhaps we should return to Scotland after all, and look for a new alliance from there."

My heart stops at the idea of never coming here, of never having those childhood memories with Francis. Never meeting him till the day we married. I know many have that happen - especially of royal blood - but I would never want that.

"Your wedding isn't the only thing I found out from your maids," she continues. "They indicate that you have not called for any cloth for a couple of months, that your dresses are just beginning to tighten. Your breasts were sensitive when I brushed them just now. Were you intimate with Francis before you ran away?"

My entire body freezes, "I_ hope you're pregnant_," racing into my brain. I hadn't even thought about it. Things have been so chaotic since I left and then returned. The nausea I've experienced lately, the tightness of my dresses - it all makes sense. My hand goes to my middle as if I coule feel the seed that grows within me. A part of Francis and me - a promise seeded and grown during those days of love and bliss. Nostradamus's words of my being alone also spring to mind. Could this be another indication that he was wrong?

I nod to her, answering her question. "Yes, we were."

"Mary, my child," she says, taking my hands. "You have a chance here to right the rash and wrong decisions you've made. From all I've seen, Francis is a good man. He loves you, his country and his people. He will be devoted to the people of Scotland. I know I've already said this, but don't let fear paralyze you. Don't deprive yourself of a man you love and whose child you carry because you fear fate. He will be at your side in all things and seek to give you good advice and wise counsel. Think of these things tonight, then make your choice.

"I make decisions every day that affect thousands, and you make decisions on whim and folly. You're still a girl who is not yet ready to rule - yet you are a queen. You need to think and use your tutoring. Lives are at stake, ones that include both yours and mine. Stop being led by fear. Be a strong leader who thinks through her decisions rationally, not impulsively. Be the queen you were born to be - not this fearful, irrational and reactive person you've become. For Scotland, for your people, for your child. Be the queen you were born to be, not a silly, frightened girl."

* * *

My mind is unclear, confused. I've been running from this prophecy for so long that I don't know how to begin to contemplate that it might now be different or changed. I made so many decisions - life-changing, world-changing - decisions because of my trust in Nostradamus's gifts. I even ignored Kenna when she told me of Aylee being poisoned. I toyed with the fates of nations and people to save one man's life - a life he asked me not to save. My hand brushes my abdomen again, as if our child can give me strength.

What my mother has said makes sense - to the rational side of me. The problem with that is there have been too many things pulling at the irrational side of my brain. "This is madness." I remember saying those words to Catherine, before I spoke to Nostradamus. I remember Francis saying them to me after I returned to the chateau. Is that what this has been? A descent into madness?

This feels a dream, walking this path again, for the same reason - to find a way to reconcile my heart and head. I've already accepted that Bash has no desire to learn to rule. I knew I was in a situation which potentially questioned every single decision I've ever made.

What I hadn't considered is how difficult all of this would be - ruling Scotland, France and reaching for the English crown - would be if I attempted to do this without Francis; his strategic mind; his knowledge of politics and diplomacy; his counsel. Am I ready for that? Am I ready to walk away - for a third time - from a man I know I will love my entire life? I know this is our last chance - am I ready to let him go forever?

I've been given a gift a "true choice" as Francis expressed. Now I must find out as much as possible and weigh my options and figure out how to go forward.

I knock at the infirmary door, tentative for once. So much depends on what happens in this room. Nostradamus opens the door, "Your Grace," he greets me in that rough voice of his.

"I'm sure you were expecting me," I return, entering the room.

"Yes," he nods. "You spoke to Prince Francis or the queen?"

"Francis," I nod.

"You know he does not believe in my gifts. He calls them mysticism or superstition," he replies. "He is a man of modernity, believing in reason and logic. He loves Plato and Aristotle. The only form of other-worldliness he allows into his life is his belief in God. But he heard me out today. I believe he did that for you."

I smile, thinking of Francis compromising his beliefs for me. "_He is reasonable in all things, but he is relentless in his love for you,_" his mother told me.

"Please tell me what you saw," I encourage.

He offers me a chair, sitting at the roughly hewn table where he mixes his potions. He tells me of his new vision; it is much as Francis told me, but he adds something at the end - "He will have a short life still. I still see him dying young, but it in no way ties to you or your union."

"How did you make this mistake?" I ask. He's the one that is supposed to have insights. He is the one with the gift - a gift I trusted over Francis, over my own heart, over my own initial reaction of scepticsm.

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "I see images. Somehow because I did not know that Clarissa was the queen's daughter, it was all jumbled. Today it was clear."

I hear feet padding down the stairs in the corner and look behind me - it's Catherine. "I thought I might find you here," she says by way of greeting.

I'm not sure what to say to her anymore. I believed her. Because I know how deeply she loves Francis I believed her. I threw away a perfect happiness because I know she loves Francis just as much as I do.

"How..." I can't go on, words escaping me.

"I was wrong," she says urgently, her eyes holding mine, not letting me look away. "I should have heeded Francis's desires and stayed out of it. My great sin in this is loving him too much, wanting too much to save his life. I'm his mother. Children who die before us are the worst kind of pain. One I've already known. But to think it of my firstborn - my favorite - how could I bear that?"

"And yet," I reply, finding my voice. "Nostradamus tells me that Francis will still die young."

"But you will not be the cause, my dear," Catherine implores. "You can love one another as I know you do for the time Francis has. He could live a number of years. Don't you want to spend that time with him? Loving him? Being loved by him?"

Yes, my heart whispers, hope rising within me. I feel myself reaching toward this possibility - to be free of this death sentence, to be able to love without reserve, to stand side-by-side - that is my dream. But then I have to think of all I've done to him. Took from him. My reasons seem so hollow, my decisions so arrogant.

"I don't understand," I say urgently. "You - both of you - told me that I was to be the cause of Francis's death. You implored me to leave him to save him," I almost yell at Catherine, my voice rising and breaking. I feel tears forming in my eyes and don't try to stop their falling. "I remained strong and sacrificed my love for him so he could live, and find a new path for himself. I broke his heart and mine in the name of saving him and now you tell me none of it was right to begin with? That all I did was for naught!"

Catherine reaches for my hands, but I rip them away.

"He _begged_ me to listen to him - to reason - to believe in our love for one another," I throw at her. "But I didn't. I listened to the both of you, giving into my fears. How am I supposed to put all of that back together? I took _everything_ from Francis in the name of saving his life. How is he ever supposed to forgive that type of betrayal? How are we supposed to..." I trail off, unable to speak any longer. I land with a thud on the infirmary bed, burying my face in my hands, giving in for a moment to despair.

After a few moments, I hear the click of heels against the stone and feel Catherine kneel down in front of me. "Mary," she begins softly, her fingers just touching the tips of mine, "as the woman who loved him first and fiercest, till you, I know he will forgive you because I know his heart. He loves you deeply. And this morning, when I told him of Nostradamus's new prophecy, I saw true hope on his face and in his eyes for the first time since the day you left. While you were gone he never gave up looking for you, ran himself senseless trying to find any clue of you. He believed in the love you shared then, even when you had abandoned him with Bash. It will take time, but I know the love the two of you share. You will find your way back to one another and the love you have."

"Thank you," I whisper, after a few moments, squeezing her fingers. There's nothing else to say.

* * *

Nothing seems real today. When I woke up this morning, I knew my path - it was clear. Marry Bash, get him legitimized, claim England when my cousin dies, keep trying to put Francis in the past. Now, all of that seems so far away. Shattered into a million pieces. I'm not to be the cause of Francis's death.

While Catherine's words ease my worries just a bit, they don't alleviate them. I can't help coming back to all the mess and destruction I've left in my wake, and if I choose Francis as my heart tells me I should - as my head tells me as well - I will now hurt Bash. He might not have gone into this for the right reasons, but he has still stood by me through it all and been supportive.

I get to my rooms. Opening the door I find Kenna, Greer and Lola there. "Is there something you needed?" I ask, wanting to be alone to clear my head and sort through all I have learnt.

"We just wanted to see if you needed anything?" Greer says. "Your mother was worried and Henry so angry when you couldn't be found."

"I'm fine. I just have a lot to think about," I return, trying to smile. I think of asking them to leave, but in the end I tell them everything that has happened. They are the closest things to advisors I have and I could use their opinions. They're shocked by what happened at the graveyard of the chapel and the revision of the prophecy, of Catherine's kindness and support. I leave out the news of my pregnancy - for that is between Francis and myself. I will tell him in my own time.

"I love him; I love them both," I finish.

"Why do I sense a 'but' after that?" Greer smiles slyly in that way of hers.

I sigh, "But...it's different. They're different. With Bash it's comfortable, we've found an equilibrium even if we don't agree on much. I feel, in time, we could have a good marriage." Though I'm not sure it would be anything else. Bash still doesn't care about being a good ruler, I can see those burdens falling heavier on myself. "And I don't want to hurt him."

"But you began this to save Francis's life, not because you didn't love him," Kenna interjects. "And you based your decision on the fact that Aylee died just like Nostradamus predicted she would, but she was poisoned. We know that with the dead cat. And now you tell us the prophecy has changed, or split - however you want to look at that. I understand not wanting to hurt Bash, I really do. But look at all the things you did in the name of love to save Francis's life. Loving him in time isn't what the two of you had - you loved him enough to turn the world inside out to save his life. To me, that's what all of us wish we had or could find."

"I know," I sigh, my head lolling to the side. "Francis is everything I've ever wanted or dreamed of. Our love has so many facets - passion, stillness, partnership, honesty, mutual respect and desire," I smile.

"And you're going to throw away a life with a man that you have all that with for...someday you'll have something comfortable?" Greer laughs. "I wish I could find a man I both love and my family would want me to marry. You did, in Francis. Don't throw that away for someone you're comfortable with, who's as much a friend as anything. I've seen you with both. The way you're just drawn to Francis as if he's your sun is nothing like how you act around Bash. I hate to say it, but Bash is the guy you end up with because you have no other option and try to make it worl with. Francis is the great love of your life. The fact that you have that with someone who you were betrothed to at six is amazing. I've told you that before. To throw away a chance to love him freely, when I've seen your sadness and grief at letting him go? Well, let's just say I've never thought you a fool, but I might if you throw away a second chance with him."

"I agree," Kenna nods.

"Lola?" I ask. She's been quiet today.

"I think you will make the right decision in the end," she says, her lips barely lifting.

"Thank you," I call out as they leave for supper, letting my head rest against the frozen, darkened window. All is finally quiet. Snow falls outside, covering the world in a pristine white. I remember playing in the snow with Francis, throwing balls we made with our hands at one another. Trying to stuff themdown one another's clothes. I smile, thinking back to those innocent days - days when we didn't know how much pain we would cause one another, but days when we had no clue how much joy we could have together, either.

Love is a strange thing - it has many facets and permutations. Many sides and types. Life would be easier with Bash in some ways; he doesn't question me - though he does go behind my back sometimes. I know he's devoted to me - only me. Life with Francis would be more complicated. We would have to find a way to bridge the distrust and pain I've caused. But I also know he'll challenge me, argue with me, and share every burden and struggle I have. With him' I know my opinion will always be respected if not agreed with and we'll find the answers together. With him, I know there is someone I can trust - Francis is honest to a fault. Sometimes brutally so. With him, I will have a true partnership of equals - two people born and bred to rule who also love one another. It won't always be easy but, then, nothing in life is.

In the end, I know there is only one choice, and it was made for me long ago. My head, my heart, my entire being relax and settle for the first time since the day I first heard of the prophecy. My path is clear. Our path, I smile, laying my hand on my still flat belly.

There's only one place I want to be and one person I want to see.

* * *

He's not in his rooms when I get there, so I sit and wait. I'm told he is having dinner with his mother and younger brothers. It makes me smile to think of his relationship with his brothers. How patient and caring he is. Making sure they have a good fun along with minding their nurses and tutors.

My hand goes to my abdomen, a smile pulling on my face - he will be such a wonderful father, boy or girl. I'm sure he would like an heir first, however. And if Nostradamus is correct, and he does still die young, I'll have a piece of him to treasure always. I take a moment to pray for a little boy with golden curls and shining blue eyes.

I must doze off after a bit, because the next thing I know is a soft shaking and Francis whispering my name. I slowly come awake, my head still foggy. "Francis," my voice cracks as I reach out to touch his beautiful face.

"How long have you been here?" he asks, helping me sit up.

"I'm not sure." I look around, the fire has gone down quite a bit and the room is colder. He moves to stir the embers, then add wood.

"Have you eaten?" he looks back at me from where he is crouched.

"No." My hand goes to my middle as my thoughts go to the child I carry inside me, though I'm sure he just thinks it's to indicate an empty stomach.

"Let me get someone to fetch something for you." He heads to the door to speak with a guard.

"You wanted to see me?" he asks.

"I choose you," I blurt out, no grace about me, but I can't keep it inside. I need him to know.

"You..." he trails off. The look on his face shows his shock.

"I choose you; I choose us," I nod, taking one of his hands; he sits beside me. It feels as though I'm touching a flame; my hand tingles and I feel a chill on my arm at the contact with his skin. "I choose 'we and our and us' and the arguing, and the honesty, and the listening, and the pressuring I want all of that, I always have. I love you more than anything else in this world. I did as a child - the man you grew to become was more than my wildest dreams. I told you the day I left I would never forget any of it, not a single word; not a single moment, and I haven't. I've tried not to remember, but there was never a time I didn't love you. You're my heart.

"Yes, I choose you" I finish.

He takes a minute, looking at me hard, seeking, assessing. "You must be sure," he says, still hesitant. "There's no backing out this time. I can't go through this again."

"I've never been more sure of anything before," I tell him, looking straight into his beautiful expressive blue eyes, hoping he sees my sincerity and love just as I see his wariness. "I never forgot us; I never stopped loving you; I just had to try to push us away so I could function and try to move forward. And then there were times when something unexpected happened and I couldn't move or breathe - my feelings so overwhelmed me. I think the reason I tried to stay in motion so much while you were gone was so I would be exhausted each night and fall into a dreamless sleep. Letting go of the person you love with all your heart is truly impossible, I've found. The smallest thing would send me down a memory hole and I had to fight my way out.

"You were right you know," I say with a small laugh, squeezing his hands. "I think you're the prophetic one, not Nostradamus."

"About what?" he asks, tipping his head.

"To stay sane we must be together," I smile. "You were right. This place, the people here, somehow you have a calming effect or something, I'm not sure, but you do on me at least. I'm a better person when I'm with youI think it's because I know I can rely on you completely and you're always honest with me. You keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. But the things I've seen, the situations I've ended up in, they...I will tell you about them soon. But "madness" barely scratches the surface.

"I choose you," I repeat. "Please choose me."

I reach up, cupping his chin as he's done so many times to me and pull him down, pressing my lips to his.

His lips are so different, so welcome and familiar. Firm and masculine against mine. I've only kissed two men, but I truly wish it were only one. If this time apart has taught me one thing it's taught me a million, but when you find that perfect person for you, you don't squander it or throw it away - you embrace it and hold tight for as long as you have. There's no great passion here as our lips move against one another's - though I know we can flame to it at a moment's notice - just a gentle reconnecting and intimacy.

Our lips part, foreheads touching still. "I choose you," he breathes. He pulls me into his arms?and I twine mine around his middle, letting myself softly fall into his lap - just as he's allowed me a soft landing from my betrayal. I don't know if I deserve it, but I shall be forever grateful and give thanks for it every day of my life.

* * *

"Mary, you can still choose to marry _me_," Bash says, reaching for my hand. "You said yes; you promised to marry me."

He came to me a few minutes ago, when he learnt I chose to marry Francis. I'm not sure from where, as only my friends knew my thoughts as I was making my final decision. I would not think one of them would tell him before I did. I had just come to my rooms to freshen up from seeing Francis. Perhaps I should have gone to him first, but I needed to take that first step with Francis. I'd stayed with him for some time - eating, talking, tentatively trying to reconnect. But I know this all needs to be settled tonight, so I don't have to worry or think about it tomorrow. My wedding day.

To me it is no choice; Francis has always been in my heart. He _is_ my heart. I think with Francis gone for so long Bash let himself forget that. Or, thinking back to his first reactions to our betrothal, perhaps he chose to never see it.

Nevertheless, I dragged him into this. Had I agreed to marry Charles, none of this would have happened. Charles wouldn't care and there wouldn't be the mess. Instead, I'm looking at a man I never wanted to hurt, but to whom I can't give what he wants. I don't think I ever could. He wants my heart for himself, something that never could have happened. I was deluding myself as much as him. Trying to stuff Francis into a box, just like I stuffed his stocking into that drawer.

"No, I can't," I gently reply, pulling my hands back, laying them in my lap and threading my fingers together. "With Clarissa's death, Nostradamus says his visions of Francis's death have clouded." There is no need for him to know that my carrying Francis child also has altered the visions; he'll likely find out soon enough, since one vision has to do with Bash himself. "I did everything I did to save Francis's life because I love him. Everything was always because I love him. You knew that. I now have the opportunity to marry him and not cause his death. I must take it."

"So you're just going to toss me aside?" he questions, bitterness clear in his voice.

"It's not a matter of tossing anyone aside," I answer. "Did Francis deserve what I did to him, even if I did it out of love? Did the French people deserve me deciding their fate because I was too scared to lose their king? No one in this deserved what they got, except perhaps me. I've probably lost a friend. The man I love might never truly forgive me for what I did, but I have to try to begin to help put us back together. I must. If I didn't, I would regret it the rest of my life."

"You told me your heart was open," he implores, his eyes searching mine for cracks. This time there are none. Unlike when I faced Francis in a similar situation' my heart, mind and body are in complete agreement. They want Francis. Only Francis. Things might never be the same as that beautiful day he asked me to marry him and promised the life for us that I had always dreamt of, but I must try. For him. For us. For our child. For myself.

"And it was. I did not lie," I return. I don't really want to do this, but I must. He deserves honesty. I dragged him into this after all. His relationship with Francis might never heal because of my actions. "I've never wanted a marriage of just duty and state. I've always wanted to love the man I marry. And in time I believe I could have learned to love you."

"Learned?" he spits back. "How does one learn to love someone? You either do or you don't."

"Friendship, affection, companionship- those things can turn into love," I say, keeping my tone even.

"That isn't..." he begins.

"Bash," I try to soothe and explain myself. "There are different types of love. And I was open to finding that with you - that's what I meant. You knew going into this that my heart was filled with love already. Love for Francis. And that type of love doesn't just go away. It never will, I don't believe. I'll love Francis till the day I die, whenever that may be. I did what I did to protect him, because I love him. You knew these things. And even though everything that happened were my choices, they were still incredibly painful ones to make. I felt as though I were ripping out my own heart. Those wounds are still fresh, still acute. With time I might have healed and moved on, loved that way again, but it's far too soon for that yet. My heart was still far too broken over how much I hurt him and how much I hurt myself."

"Him?" he laughs bitterly. "He's marrying you. Everything is back exactly the way it was."

"And I have no idea if he's forgiven me, if he ever will," I reply, tears forming in my eyes. I don't know. I don't know if he ever will. I have to pray that Francis's generous nature prevails. "But even so, I am so sorry for hurting you. I never meant for that to happen. I didn't mean to get your hopes up only to dash them. I thought we would marry and build a life together, that you would be my husband and we would grow old together. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Well, it's so nice that you didn't mean for any of this to happen," he says, sarcasm dripping from his words. "But it did, and you let me hope and dream and think you truly loved me. Not Francis. I did this for you."

"And I did it for him," I feel as though he slapped me. Did he not do this for Francis? I suppose I'd assumed, but perhaps I was wrong. "I never lied to you," I repeat. I just let him see what he wanted to see, and perhaps that was my greatest sin. "It was always about him, if you ever thought otherwise perhaps that is my fault, but I don't think it is. I was always clear with you."

He shakes his head. "I can't do this," he replies, turning and walking out of the room.

I never wanted to hurt him, but he came into this with his eyes open. He also went behind my back, trying to push me into a wedding without all the facts.

My regrets are many, but I can't regret choosing Francis. To let him go again when I know we have another chance is not something I can live with. It's not a regret I could ever let go.

* * *

"You made the right choice you know," my mother says. She came to me before retiring for the night.

"I know," I reply, smiling sadly. My mix of emotions are myriad. Sadness, pain, and guilt that threaten to overwhelm me. But in that mix is this startling golden thing: happiness and a path home. I know it won't happen immediately, but I know Francis and I will find our way back to one another. We always do, somehow stronger and sturdier than before. I believe that, I must, or I will drown.

"Are you sad?" she questions. "Francis will be a wonderful King Consort for Scotland, giving you perspective and sound advice."

"No, I'm not sad," I say; "I'm happy with my choice of Francis. I know it's the right one. For me, for Scotland, for everyone. I've just caused a lot of damage and hurt a lot of people in the name of love and protection. Something none of them asked for."

"I get the impression young Sebastian went into this fully aware of the risks," she offers. "He might be hurt, but I can't fault you for that. He knew he was unprepared to rule and he knew of the prophecy revision, but he decided to push forward anyway. He might not have asked for any of this, but he got exactly what he wanted out of it - you. Any pain he is now feeling he has brought on himself. He took his brother's life to get you, my dear. He lied to you today to keep you. I've heard other tales since I've been here that tell me how much he has done to get you for himself. You owe him no guilt, no regret. He chose this path himself, and the way it ended up he also brought on himself."

She might be harsh in her way of expressing herself, but I know in many ways she's right. I convinced myself that Bash's reasons were the same as mine - to save Francis - but they weren't. Perhaps if I hadn't been in so much pain I would have seen it. From that first night on the balcony when he spoke of marriage and babies, when my heart was shattered and I just wanted to cry, to his insecurity and jealousy of my love for Francis. He did this to get me, not save Francis. Perhaps accepting that is a way to begin forgiving myself.

I can't yet let go of my guilt but I know in time I will. I know as Francis and I find our way back to one another, my heart won't have room for regrets and guilt. When I tell him of our child that I carry, I know there will be no room for them either.

* * *

"I love you; I never stopped," I tell him, hoping he truly believes me. We're back on the same balcony where we came the first time we came back together, after Tómas. We've been watching the snow fall quietly. It's very late and both of us are bundled up. Francis had the servants fetch extra braisers to give more warmth. We should be abed - tomorrow will be a very long day of ceremony and pomp - but I think we both need to spend these last moments together, even if we've been just standing here in silence. It's our first step together on the path that will bring us home.

"I know," he smiles, cupping my face, sadness in his eyes. I mourn that he's wearing gloves to help keep warm. "The funny thing about all of this is I never once doubted your love for me - but you gave in to the capriciousness of fear and fate, mysticism and whim. And that is something I don't understand. I mean, what is fate? I was fated to rule and have spent my life trying to learn to be the best possible ruler for my people. Who am I without that? There were times during all this that I honestly didn't know. I'm prepared to make decisions that affect the lives and fate of thousands - and weigh the consequences - but I wasn't sure how exactly to make decisions that just affect me. Who would you be, truly, if tomorrow someone told you you're not the Queen of Scotland? Fate - God - made us who we are. Are we to question that?

"Loving one another issuch a gift," he shifts. "But we - you and I both - were raised to put our people before ourselves, our countries before our own desires. What you did," he shakes his head. "What you did it affected all those people, and it will for some time, because things have become unsettled. Even though you did it to save my life and I know you did it from love, you did something completely lacking in reason or logic which could have potentially killed thousands. It is still something I don't yet understand.

"In the end, I didn't do this just for us," he continues. "I did it for France. I did it for Scotland. And for both our people. I came back for my mother and to stop my father. I love you, I always shall; but I haven't yet forgiven you. I will; I have to. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't or couldn't. But I need time.

"There's a part of me that is so happy about tomorrow, but there's a part of me that doesn't yet trust it or you. I went through a lot, and we'll talk about that. I'm going to try to focus on the fact that I'm marrying the woman I love on the morrow and let all everything else lie. We have time now to find our way back to where we once were. I should go. I'll see you in the morning. I'll be the one in black waiting at the head of the aisle."

TBC

**Endnotes**:

-Lots of historical stuff in here.

1) the English queen who dies was Mary Tudor, or Bloody Mary. The show seems to have eleminated her from the history books. She was most definitely Catholic and killed scores of Protestants during her reign. The throne of England went Henry VIII-Mary I-Elizabeth I and actually goes, Protestant-Catholic-Protestant, not the way the show says. Also, Mary Tudor was married to Phillip II of Spain at the time of her death, the same king that marries Elizabeth de Valois in the pilot of Reign. Only reason I could figure out for taking that many obvious liberties is to give Francis more to work with. Till the Defeat of the Spanish Armada, Spain is the most powerful country in the world.  
2) the real Mary is thought to have had what today would likely be described as bi-polar disorder. One of my theories about the BoP arc - well I've stolen it from **poligirl25** and **firewall** - is that these episodes are a window into Mary's future. Sad, filled with intrigue, and bad choices in life and men. One thing written about her is that Francis was the one person who truly kept her on an even keel, helping her not get to the extremes of bi-polar swings. Which makes the lines like "this is madness," or "to stay sane we must stay together," all the more real & poignant.  
3) the history of the English crown is dealing with the War of the Roses. The settling of the WotR was the beginning of the Tudor dynasty and the coronation of Henry VII, Mary's great grandfather, and from whom her claim to the English crown derives.  
4) Princes in the Tower refers to Edward V of England and Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York who were 12 & 9 at the time of their father Edward IV death. Their uncle, Richard Duke of Gloucester put them in the Tower of London upon his appointment as Lord Protector - regent - April 9, 1483. No one knows what actually happened to them, but they were never seen again after summer 1483. Two separate sets of bones have been found as late as the 1640s of two children, that might be them but it remains a mystery. There's a whole interesting imposter reappearance in 1490 of Perkin Warbeck who claimed to be Richard - the younger one. But that really relates to ASOIAF and fAegon.  
5) there is a prophecy by the real Nostradamus predicting Henry's death at the hand of the "little lion." It's one that came true. I don't think it's a coincedence the show gave Bash the lion as his personal sigil.  
6) the Marie figures out that Mary is pregnant is from one of my twitter pals, **Callista**. I'm shamelessly using it, because I think it's great. The bean is real, yo!  
7) to **Justcallmesmitty** & **poligirl25**, seriously, I know I say this every time I post, but I can't thank y'all enough. My writing has to try y'all's patience, and yet you go through these monstrosities with a fine tooth comb every single time, helping me make them so much better. I'm probably not the easiest writer to beta for in the world, I expect a lot. And y'all help me with grace and enthusiasm every single time.  
8) this story is almost at an end. I'll be posting a very short epilogue tomorrow.

Thank you for reading. Reviews and comments are always loved and appreciated.


	7. King

**King**

Francis was right. He figured out a way to beat me. Check and mate. He obliterated the board.

Actually, it's not just that he beat me at the game, and then made me a player for his side, it's that he was right - about everything. Bash not being fit to rule, me acting on superstition and emotion, rather than reason or logic. Acting like a scared girl rather than a queen. He was right about it all. It's a hard lesson; but one I must accept - and all that comes with it. My actions had consequences, some I likely don't yet know. I have to accept responsibility for setting all this into motion and seek to repair the damage. I am a queen; I only have myself to blame.

As I feel Greer tighten my laces I have to wonder - can we repair things between us? No, that is the wrong way to look at this. Francis assures me we can, that we will. And I believe him. I have to, or I will give into despair. My hand slides over my still flat belly and I feel hope. There's this life that flourishes inside of me, a life that defied my silly physical exertions and stayed with me as a promise of the love its father and I share. This child is my hope for us, our love the bridge we have to rebuild to find our way truly back to one another. We have time now - all the time we need.

I hold my arms up to allow my maids to slip the lace gown over my head. My greatest lesson in this is to truly cherish the gifts I've been given, hold them true, and only let go if I must I don't know how long Francis will live - Nostradamus's words niggle at the back of my mind - but I can't let that worry me. Whether we have one or five or ten or even twenty years together, I know now I must treat every day as the gift it is. Francis's greatest gift to me will always be this chance. Now we have a chance to build the life we'd only just begun to hope for and anticipate. And we begin with a new life and promise as well. Our child. Just the thought makes me grin. I can't wait to tell him - I know he will be so happy and excited - but I want to wait till we begin to talk through the hurt and betrayals. I want him to know that this child is a testament to the love I have for him. A little piece of him that I carried with me even as I tried to run away from us.

I sit to have my tiara arranged on my head by my mother, my earrings screwed onto my ears. In the end, Francis rescued me. Had he not shown up at the chapel where I was to wed Bash, I would already be married. Had he not compromised his belief in reason to accommodate my having given into the seduction and lure of mysticism, I would not be here. He rescued me from a life with Tomás; he came back when he should have been worried about himself; he believed in us enough to not hesitate when he found out my stubborn mind might be changed. His protection, his belief in us is why we're here today. I stopped believing and tried to let go of the string - that thing that exists between us, always drawing us back together, sometimes even when we didn't want it, or weren't ready for it - but he stayed true to his belief that we were meant to be and acted in faith with that. It overwhelms me with myriad emotions. Awe, happiness, contentment and so many more. And love, always love.

I am ready. I look in the silvered glass and know I've never been more beautiful than today. The happiness of who I am to marry radiates off my face. My maids slip a furred cape over me so I won't catch a chill. It's time to go. All of us move to head toward the carriages that will take us to the cathedral for the wedding. The snowfall from last night makes everything pristine and white, like a crystalline fairy wonderland. And as if everything has slipped back into its proper place and order, today there are no ruffians - just people on the road waving and calling out to offer their best wishes.

I can feel every eye on me as I move down the aisle. I feel my face lift in happiness, contentment and surety. I can't yet see him, but I know he's there, waiting for me. Just like always. Every eye is on me. I look down for a moment, feeling myself blush.

I look up, and there he is. My love. My king.

FIN

**Endnotes**:

1) First, foremost and always, thank you so much to **justcallmesmitty** and **Poligirl25**. Kate & Amanda, this would not exist without the two of you. I don't know how, or, what else to say but very sincere thank yous to the both of you. Y'all are such heros to this story! It would not exist without your help & dedication.

2) Yes, this is the end. This is always where I'd planned on ending this story, though it's content has changed over time. But this story is about Mary's journey and emotions through the BoP and finding it in herself to begin down a path to reclaiming what she threw away with Francis. Not the destination. Ending here gets me to that goal. My original plan was to have a companion story of the wedding night from Francis POV out before 13 aired. So this story is bookended by Francis POV. Unfortunately with the size of the Rook & Queen chapters that just was not possible. I'm going to see where they leave us tonight when I watch the episode and then figure it out. I think it will still work out to plan as I don't think we're going to get a lot AFTER the consummation scene, which is what I've been interested in all along.

3) Much thanks to my readers, every single one of you, and especially those that left comments, favorites and kudos. They're so appreciated by me. You don't even know.

4) Finally, this has been an interesting writing experience, one I don't think I'll repeat! I generally write one-shots for two reasons: I'm paranoid about not finishing stories, and multi chapter works and fandom deadlines don't really fit my life. I'll still be writing, look for the Francis story soon, and then I have another story planned that will come out whenever I write and finish it. But, no deadlines, for a very long time. I decided to write this because I love to spec, and I had a lot of ideas about the BoP - including that moniker I gave it - and I wanted to make sense of them in a narrative form. It turns out I got a lot of stuff right, especially the major themes. But I also got stuff wrong. And that's okay. Gambit stands on its own! There've been a lot of headaches, tears, gnashing of teeth, and emotions writing this, I hope reading it affected you as much as it did me. My biggest hurdle was I'd never written Bash, and didn't have a lot of interest in him, but he's central to this story, so I had to figure it out. Who he is, what his motivations were, how he speaks even - he hadn't had a lot of lines on the show till this arc - and this story is rooted in canon first and foremost. Then there's the fact that this story is only in Mary's POV, how to write her bento box nature, it was a conundrum. One that Kate had a lot to say about, but I also have to be true to me, and my ideas. Also, just trying to figure out Mary's emotions as she moved forward, how much would she give to Bash that she'd given to Francis? In the end I'm very satisfied with the path I took, I've always believed she would only give as much as she had to to keep him on board her plan, and I think that's exactly what we saw play out on screen and here. And finally, how to make both Francis and Mary the co ultimate heroes of this story, because I think that's key, they're equals. She chooses, but even after everything, he still accepts. Thank you so much for reading.

As always, comments are extremely welcome!


End file.
